


Do You Maybe Want To Hold Hands Or Something?

by TopJoy



Series: The Hand Holding Series [2]
Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Comedy of Errors, Cute, Dorkiness, Fluffy, M/M, Overprotective Brothers, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, romcom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-11-28 05:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopJoy/pseuds/TopJoy
Summary: Sometimes, seeing other people in love makes us ask the question: man, maybe I DO want someone to hold hands with and maybe kiss? Other times it reminds us that Only Bad Things come of such mushy activities as hand-holding. And other times you just have to learn that maybe your social circle was smaller than you thought and it's time to try to make new friends (with whom you may or may not decide to hold hands).For Skywarp, Thundercracker and Sideswipe, these are the important questions that need to be answered.This fic is: romantic comedy, mostly light, relationship focused, and probably smutty somewhere down the line here. It's also a sequel to Might Treasure You To Bits and won't make much sense if you haven't read that!





	1. Cut That Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is a sequel to I Might Treasure You To Bits, because it's a lot of fun to write dumb romcoms. Also small note on this chapter here that there's some reference to a certain plane crashing into some birds and the birds definitely did not make it, so if that's a thing you don't like consider yourself warned!

“Sideswipe, this has got to stop,” said Jazz, arms crossed.

“I gotta agree, this was too much,” commented Inferno, gingerly rubbing his aft, which had a fresh weld in it.

“FWEEEEEE,” agreed Red Alert, arms also crossed and angrily blowing the whistle that was presently glued into his mouth.

“Er, sorry,” Sideswipe said over the sound of the spark pulse monitor that was attached to Prowl, who was thoroughly unconscious but whose very presence lent its severe disappointment to the chewing out that was commencing.

“Let’s keep our voices down, please,” Ratchet commented from across the medbay at his desk.

“Sorry,” Inferno stage whispered.

“Fweeet,” Red Alert apologized.

“You’ve been totally outta control the past coupla weeks. Even I can’t tolerate this,” Jazz pointed first to his own chassis, which was covered in bright pink paint, then to the deeply torpid Prowl, then more broadly to Inferno, who was still suffering from a severe fall on his aft, and Red Alert, who was making quiet whistling noises with every invent.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think Prowl’d crash like that,” Sideswipe tried to avoid Jazz’s accusatory stare by looking at Prowl, who, despite his optics being shuttered, managed to out-accusatory-stare Jazz by a mile. Sideswipe tried the floor next, hoping it would sympathize with being stepped on, but only found it to be cold and highly reflective.

“Crashing is a generous term for what you have done to our dear and delicate tactician,” Jazz snapped, lingering on each syllable to make it stick. “You have put him into a _coma_. You are lucky he is _going_ to wake up within _the next six months.”_

“He’ll probably wake up today, but he’ll be in the medbay for at least a week,” Ratchet helpfully supplied from across the room, where the atmosphere was decidedly cheerier. “But Jazz is right, this was much too close for comfort.”

“I didn’t know he was taking a processor decelerator, I just thought he was tired! I would have been more careful if I’d known!”

“FWEEE!!” Red Alert jabbed a finger at Sideswipe.

“It’s still not nice to scare people,” Inferno noted.

“Or electrocute them,” Jazz added.

“ _That_ wasn’t my fault, I didn’t expect you to be rounding the corner carrying live wire!” Sideswipe jabbed a finger at Inferno.

“I’m well equipped to handle it, so I was doing some repairs on that section of hall. There were signs posted,” Inferno replied calmly.

“It was careless anyways! You gotta check your surroundings, Sideswipe!” Jazz threw his hands out, exasperated. “Listen, I know you’re bored and lonely since your brother’s been busy, but you can’t keep taking it out on the base. It’s getting to interfere with operations, and that’s where even I have to draw the line.”

“I’m really sorry,” Sideswipe said, fidgeting awkwardly. “It was an accident.”

Red Alert was not swayed, but Inferno gently reminded him to keep his whistling to a quiet high-pitched whine so as not to disturb the sanctity of the medbay. Jazz sighed, rubbing his face and then stepping around the benumbed Prowl and putting a hand on Sideswipe’s shoulder.

“I get it was an accident and that you’re sorry. You understand though that this can’t happen again, right?” Jazz said. “We’ll get together and talk about some options later today, after I clean this up and tie up some loose ends so Prowl doesn’t immediately crash again as soon as he wakes up.”

“I’m going to help Red Alert with this whistle problem,” Inferno said.

“Just apply the solvent like I showed you,” Ratchet said cheerfully from across the room.

“Sorry about your aft,” Sideswipe said.

“It’s okay,” Inferno began, but suddenly paused as one of Prowl’s monitors lit up. They all turned to look at the tactician as his optics flickered on dimly.

“If rocks fall in the cave this week, be considerate to Skywarp,” he said cryptically. “I don’t want to have fun, I’m tired!” he added, lamely waving a fist in the air, then paused, considering something. “I can’t believe you’re making me dance in front of everyone, I’m really embarrassed,” he added, glaring pointedly at Jazz and blushing fiercely, looking like he might cry. He then continued to lay there, on the verge of tears, frowning deeply at the ceiling. Slowly his optics dimmed, and he slipped back offline before anyone could recover enough from the shock to say anything to him.

“Uh, Ratchet?” Jazz asked after a moment. Ratchet walked over and checked the monitors, then put a hand on Prowl’s head to check his temperature.

“He’s fine, he just had some conclusions buffered in his tactical computer that he needed to express,” Ratchet explained after concluding that it wasn’t some kind of a stroke or divine inspiration.

“Those were some pretty wild conclusions,” Sideswipe commented.

“The combination of using an underclocker to help cycle down for recharge and receiving the double shock of being startled and electrocuted can do some strange things to tactical priority trees,” Ratchet explained. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Now that he’s up, though, I would like some peace and quiet in the medbay, so if you wouldn’t mind,” Ratchet added, gesturing to the door.

“Sure, Ratchet. I’ll be back later to check on ‘im,” Jazz said. He patted Prowl on the shoulder gently and with great confusion, then moved to lead Sideswipe out of the medbay. Inferno and Red Alert were already out the door.

“I’m _really sorry_ , Jazz,” Sideswipe said sheepishly, staring at his feet as they stepped into the hall.

“Tell that to Bluestreak,” Jazz said, pointing. Sideswipe looked up from staring dejectedly at the unsympathetic floor just in time to see the knuckles of the irate sniper before they made contact with his the bridge of his nose.

“I’m _so done_ with this! No more! No more pranks! Leave my brother alone! Or I’m gonna – I’m gonna – punch you in the face again! Many times, Sideswipe! I’m gonna break all your teeth!” Bluestreak rapidly fired off as Sideswipe fell on his aft, offending the floor for sure this time.

“Bluestreak, come on in, please,” Ratchet called from the medbay. “No hitting.”

“Sorry Ratchet I’m just really really mad,” Bluestreak called through the door in a polite voice as he ominously pointed at Sideswipe, dragged a servo over his own throat in a way that implied decapitation, and then gave the red twin a hard thumbs down before stepping into the medbay.

“I’m not going to really give you a punishment for this I think, mostly because I know you feel like trash anyways, and also because I am completely positive Bluestreak _will_ kill you if you do it again,” Jazz said after the medbay doors slid closed and he pulled Sideswipe to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Sideswipe muttered again.

“I know bud. Walk with me a sec,” Jazz said, patting him on the shoulder and leading him down the hall.

“Before you start, I really am happy for Sunny and Ratchet,” Sideswipe interjected.

“Wasn’t gonna imply you weren’t. Just a fact that Sunstreaker’s been spending less time with you and you’re struggling to find ways to keep busy. Happens to everyone. We gotta find a way to keep you having fun and also out of trouble, yeah?” Jazz said.

“I guess,” Sideswipe crossed his arms. “Are you gonna give me more on duty time?”

“Oh, yes, you better believe I am,” Jazz grinned. “But I’m gonna try and make it engaging, at least. You’re good with humans, so I’m putting you on all the community outreach stuff. Also a few extra patrols, and I’m gonna list you as available for assisting with lab testing. Sound good?”

“Am I gonna get any down time?” Sideswipe asked.

“Minimum. I’m giving you high-alert status hours.”

“Can I have group activity time off at least? For movie night and stuff?”

“Ah, yeah, sure. Only sanctioned events, mind you,” Jazz thumbed his nose. “No time off for unofficial group activities, unless an officer approves it.”

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna punish me,” Sideswipe sighed dejectedly.

“You’ll get your regular hours back eventually,” Jazz said. “This is just to keep you busy until things balance out, or I think of a long term solution.”

“Fine, fine. I’m gonna go wash my face, is that okay?” Sideswipe said, rubbing his sore nose.

“Yeah, sure. You’re on patrol in ten minutes, so make it quick.” Jazz teased.

“You’re a jerk!”

“Don’t be late!” Jazz replied cheerily as Sideswipe took off running down the hall.

 

There had to be a reason, Thundercracker thought, that birds did not seem able to resist flying into Skywarp. Then again, he wasn’t sure if it was the birds who lacked restraint, or if it was that Skywarp couldn’t resist trying to hit them. Bird-sized flyers had been relatively rare on Cybertron, and it was considered somewhat insensitive to intentionally collide with them. It was also considered somewhat dangerous because they were made of metal and the collision could do a lot worse than scratch up your paint.

But earth birds. Earth birds were soft. Earth birds pretty much just exploded into a cloud of feathers if you hit them. It took a bird of a considerable size to really cause much damage to a wing, unless it somehow got caught on a seam or in a gun or maybe in a turbine. Thundercracker still didn’t understand why Skywarp tried to run them down intentionally. The crunch was terrible, the blood was sticky, and the feathers got everywhere.

“I’m not _trying_ to hit them!” Skywarp insisted as Thundercracker helped him clean his wings. “I just want to scare them! They need to learn about Decepticon air superiority.”

“I don’t think the birds are smart enough to understand the concept of air superiority,” Thundercracker commented as he plucked a stray feather out of Skywarp’s aileron and went back to cleaning the wings meticulously. “If they did, they’d probably have stopped trying to compete with all the human aeroplanes.”

“I’ve heard there are birds that can _talk_ , so if that’s true, they _gotta_ be able to figure this out,” Skywarp huffed.

“Why don’t you get the coneheads to teach ‘em. I don’t have to clean bird out of their afterburners,” Thundercracker replied wryly.

“You _know_ they don’t listen to _me_ ,” Skywarp whined. “ _Nobody_ on this _whole base_ listens to me!”

“I listen to you plenty,” Thundercracker pinched an aileron and made Skywarp squirm.

“You don’t count, you’re my good brother and you’re obligated to listen to me,” Skywarp replied, wriggling. “Not like my bad brother, Starscream, who does not listen to anything I say.”

“Starscream can’t hear anybody over the sound of his own voice, so that’s not a condition unique to you,” Thundercracker rolled his optics as he finished cleaning Skywarp’s wings and set about to giving them a brief polish.

“Even Rumble doesn’t listen to me,” Skywarp whined.

“Rumble also barely listens to anyone. I don’t know if you know this, Skywarp, and this may come as a shock to you, but hardly anybody on this base listens to anyone else. Why do you think we hardly get anything done,” Thundercracker grunted as he carefully applied polish to Skywarp’s wings. Misapplying or overapplying could adversely affect his balance in flight, so he needed to be careful to ensure his brother wouldn’t list. Not that it actually mattered too much in a gunfight, where heat and blaster fire would definitely upset the balance immediately, but it was the principle of the thing.

“TC, are you being _treasonous_?” Skywarp pretended to gasp.

“You’ve mistaken me for your bad brother,” Thundercracker replied tersely. “Also, if complaining is treasonous, you’re gonna be the first one we disassemble, out of a very, very long list.”

“Sometimes I think you probably hate Decepticons even more than the autoidiots do,” Skywarp commented, flicking the wing Thundercracker had finished while his brother moved on to the next one.

“The autoidiots don’t have to live with ‘em,” Thundercracker grumbled.

“You think they gotta spend time picking birds out of their wings?” Skywarp asked.

“Most of them don’t fly or have wings, so probably not.”

“I bet every time they step on a bug they gotta hug it out, or hold some kinda trial for killing a squishy,” Skywarp mused.

“Probably,” Thundercracker agreed. Skywarp chuckled to himself at the idea of holding a tiny trial for a bug with a tiny witness stand for his tiny bug family, then slowly started to frown, crossing his arms and legs and tapping his fingers, deep in thought.

“Man, TC, what if that Autobot was _right_ , though?” Skywarp asked.

“Which one, about what?” Thundercracker asked.

“The yellow one,”

“There’s a lot of yellow ones.”

“The one who ripped off Starscream’s leg!” Skywarp snapped. “And about me and nobody wanting to kiss me.”

“Oh, right,” Thundercracker said, then paused as the full weight of Skywarp’s sentence failed to process. “What?”

“We saw him makin’ out with the rusty old medic, remember, and then I was like, makin’ fun of him for it you know, like trying to get a sick burn for being a gooey loser, but then he was like, sayin’ I was just jealous because nobody would kiss me, and you know, what if I _am_ a little jealous?” Skywarp explained.

“What?” Thundercracker replied again. Skywarp sighed.

“So you remember the other day when Starscream lost his nose --”

“Yes I do remember what you are talking about,” Thundercracker interjected. “I don’t understand why you’re worried about nobody wanting to kiss you all of a sudden.”

“Well what if I – yanno – wanted to maybe kiss somebody?” Skywarp asked, a bit sheepishly. Thundercracker leaned back, crossing his arms and narrowing his optics.

“Do you have a crush on somebody?” he asked with a severity that suggested that depending on the answer, someone may die alone in the night.

“Nobody in particular,” Skywarp replied. “But you know, I’ve been _thinking_ about _maybe_ looking into it,” Skywarp added uncertainly, and blissfully unaware of the threatening stare Thundercracker was delivering in a general radius all around the Nemesis.

“Take my advice and don’t bother,” Thundercracker warned as he finally stopped glaring around and settled back into finishing the last bit of polish on Skywarp’s wings.

“Aw, why not? I thought it would be fun!”

“It’s not. It’s unfun. It’s the least fun thing in the universe,” Thundercracker explained matter-of-factly.

“Well, okay, I guess,” Skywarp scratched his helm, seeming confused.

“Anyways. Don’t crash into birds anymore. I’m getting sick of cleaning them up.”

“I _told_ you I’m not doing it on purpose!”

 

 

 


	2. War, Panic, And Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sideswipe is asked a difficult question, Perceptor gets to talk about science without getting yelled at, Astrotrain tries to build a family out of trains, and Thundercracker realizes he has to make a list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite gags in G1 is Optimus repeatedly cutting off Perceptor's explanations of things with "JUST DO IT, PERCEPTOR!" Anyways. This is a bit of a shorter chapter and is mostly set-up heavy! Next time we'll get into something a bit more gooey, I just wanted to sorta have SOMETHING out there -- I've been really sick, so I've been falling behind on everything, haha. This seemed the most tackleable. Chapter title is a joke about Mars, please enjoy it,

Sideswipe wasn’t sure about human children, yet. They were great – but he was better, he figured, with teenagers. Human children were hard to keep track of, and he was low-key desperately afraid of accidentally stepping on one.

On the other hand, these smaller children didn’t really understand sarcasm yet, which Sideswipe viewed as a plus. The genuine enthusiasm hadn’t been crushed out of them by their industrial school system either, yet, and they were pretty much happy if he just picked them up or let them climb on him, or let them sit in the front seat. On the other hand, some teenagers liked to pretend they were cooler than he was, which was really embarrassing for everyone involved. In that regard kids were better.

Perceptor absolutely loved kids. And, inexplicably, children also loved Perceptor. They were sitting in a gymnasium with all the lights off while Perceptor was showing the kids a massive hologram of the universe and giving them a breakdown of the planets in their solar system. Sideswipe had mostly come to help Perceptor carry and set up equipment, and at this point was sitting watching the display while six kids were variously climbing, sitting, and drawing unicorns on him. The rest of the class was running around the model trying to touch the holograms.

“Does anybody know the names of Mars’s moons?” Perceptor asked, clapping his hands once to get everyone’s attention. One kid held up her hand.

“Foebee!” She said when called upon.

“Oh, that’s very close!” Perceptor smiled. “It’s Phobos! Very good! Does anybody know the other one?” he asked. No hands went up. “Sideswipe, do you know it?”

“Uhhhh,” Sideswipe said, rubbing his chin and glancing at the kids, who were looking at him expectantly. He leaned conspiratorially towards a little girl named Sarah sitting on his shoulder. “Help me out here,” he said.

“Uhhh,” she mimicked the chin rub, then leaned over and whispered something in his audial.

“Dumbo?” Sideswipe suggested.

“No, but it does start with a D!” Perceptor said enthusiastically – he was pretty much just happy when the kids guessed, and didn’t really expect them to know anything. This was, Sideswipe supposed, because of the usual response he got from most of the Autobots, which usually involved Brawn telling him he was a wimp and Optimus brutally shutting down any science babble.

“Thanks anyways, Sarah,” Sideswipe grinned. Sarah patted his head in solemn apology.

“It’s Deimos,” Perceptor explained, enlarging an image of the two moons and showing their orbit around Mars. “Based on its current orbit, we predict that one day, Phobos, which is this moon here,” Perceptor pointed, “is going to get too close to Mars, and break apart because of gravitational forces.” He went on to explain some more about the various planets for another fifteen minutes or so – which was about as long as he could hold the kids’ attention, and much longer than he could hold Sideswipe’s – and then they broke out for an activity in which, using holographic paths from the projector, they all pretended to be the planets and their various moons orbiting each other. Sideswipe and Sarah got to be the sun, mostly so Sideswipe wouldn’t have to run around the gym and accidentally step on anyone. For similar reasons, Perceptor was Pluto. Before they began, they spent a little time making little nametags for themselves with little facts about whatever planet or moon they were. Sideswipe’s was plastered to his forehead.

Sideswipe had to admit the exercise was fairly genius – the kids had to orbit the sun several times, which involved a lot of running, and by the end of it they were all thoroughly tuckered out, except Sarah, who got to sit with Sideswipe the entire time in the middle. She had some kind of breathing condition was the reason, but Sideswipe didn’t mind the company, either.

“So Sarah, do you have a favourite planet?” Sideswipe asked her quietly while Perceptor encouraged Jupiter to correct her orbit so she wouldn’t crash into Saturn as her various moons desperately tried to orbit her without running into each other – a lot of coordination to ask from children, if Sideswipe was being honest.

“Uhm,” Sarah pushed her glasses up her nose and ducked her head, looking conspiratorially from side to side. She leaned over to whisper, “Saturn has pretty rings.”

“That seems like a solid choice,” Sideswipe nodded wisely. “I think I like Mars, since it’s red, and that’s my favourite colour,” he said cheekily. “How about your favourite Autobot?” he asked.

“Perceptor,” she said without hesitating.

“Wow, flat out, huh?” Sideswipe joked. “I guess he is here a lot more than I am,” he commented.

“Wh-who’s your favourite?” Sarah asked.

“My favourite Autobot?”

She nodded. Sideswipe tapped his lips thoughtfully.

“Hmmm,” he said. “That’s a tough question! Who’s my favourite Autobot...They’re all pretty good, it’s hard to choose!” Sideswipe complained. “Can I pass?”

“Yes,” Sarah replied sagely.

“Thanks,” Sideswipe said. “I think we’re wrapping up, it’s almost time for school to be done, right?” Sideswipe said as Perceptor clapped his hands again to get the kids attention now that they had replicated the movement of the solar system several times and were fairly exhausted.

“Thanks very much everybody, and I’ll see you all in a month!” Perceptor waved as the kids were gathered and marched out in a gaggle by a couple of teachers. Sideswipe said goodbye to Sarah, depositing her on the floor so she could leave.

“You’re her faaaavourite Autobot,” Sideswipe grinned at Perceptor as they set about packing up the projector.

“Aw, that’s very sweet!” Perceptor grinned.

“I think you’re probably all their favourite Autobot, until they turn like, thirteen, then Tracks will be their favourite Autobot,” Sideswipe joked as he transformed so Perceptor could pack away the gear in his trunk and so Sideswipe could fit out of the gym’s doors.

“Why Tracks?” Perceptor asked as they headed out.

“Because he’s a car that flies, Perceptor.”

“Ah, yes, of course.”

“Dummy.”

“Sorry.” Perceptor paused. “Did you really not know the answer to the moon question?” he asked, sounding concerned as they began the slow drive back to base. Perceptor’s altmode had wheels, but his top speed was only about forty kilometres an hour.

“I wanted to give Sarah a chance to answer, she’s shy!” Sideswipe said.

“But did _you_ know it?”

“Why do I gotta know the dumb earth name for the moon of some other planet,” Sideswipe complained.

“It’s alright if you didn’t know, I just think if you’re going to be helping me like this, it might be good to read the lesson summaries, in case a child wants your help,” Perceptor explained.

“Oh. Er, well, I guess. I dunno if I’m gonna be helping you out,”

“Oh, but it was good fun, don’t you think?”

“Sure, but wouldn’t, uh, Wheeljack or someone be better?”

“We don’t let Wheeljack near the children.” Perceptor replied curtly, suddenly taking on a darker tone of voice.

“Oh. Why?”

“There was an incident.”

“Oh my god, did he blow up a child?”

“ _Fortunately_ no children were harmed.”

“Oh my god, he blew up a child,” Sideswipe gasped.

“He _almost_ blew up a child.”

“I can’t believe it,” Sideswipe said, then paused, considering. “No, actually, I can. I can completely believe it.”

“Anyways. I think you’re fairly good with the kids, and I’d love for you to keep helping me out if you’re interested!” Perceptor flipped back to his usual cheerful self.

“Maybe. If Jazz is keeping me on extra duty by the time the next one rolls around, for sure. See what happens when Prowl’s out of medbay.”

“Ah, yes. Are you going to be able to go to the movie tonight?”

“Yeah, Jazz’s letting me have movienight at least. What are we watching?”

“Er, _Porco Rosso_ , I think? It’s about planes, I understand.”

“Did Silverbolt pick it?”

“No, Powerglide did.”

“Oh, well, then at least it won’t be another documentary about plane crashes.”

 

Thundercracker watched two Autobots rolling by at a snails pace, driving back from the human city to their base from a ridge about a mile away. It didn’t look like the two were up to anything important, and they were too close to back up to justify taking a run at. Mostly, Thundercracker didn’t want the hassle – it wasn’t worth the fuel it’d take to get a couple potshots in, and Sideswipe wasn’t a target he really wanted to have a go at solo. Also, it was a nice afternoon, and he was enjoying the weather.

He sighed, making a note of the traffic anyways. Perceptor, usually with another random Autobot or two, seemed to make this trip into town about once a human month, always on a Wednesday, which lead Thundercracker to believe he was meeting with humans, probably for some kind of research agreement. Thundercracker was also pretty sure the building he went to was full of human children, so that seemed odd. Maybe human children were smarter than he’d been lead to believe. He’d check it on the internet later.

The area Perceptor passed through was hard to stage an attack on, however. The road was only a few minutes from the Autobot base by air, so the little microscope was never far from back-up. He was also always with another Autobot, and without knowing which one, it was hard to plan for.

<HEY, THUNDERCRACKER,> came a sudden screaming communication in his audial.

<You don’t have to yell,> Thundercracker snapped.

<ARE YOU NEAR THE CITY,> Astrotrain continued to yell.

<Yeah, I’m on recon,> Thundercracker replied. <Stop yelling.>

<COME MEET ME AT THE TRAINYARD, GOTTA TALK TO YOU,> Astrotrain yelled, and then the commline went dead. Thundercracker rubbed his face.

“Dumbaft,” he muttered as he got to his feet and went to meet Astrotrain at the yard.

 

The trainyard was in little use by humans these days. The reason for this was because Astrotrain had, over the past several weeks, mostly taken up residence there. Decepticons and Autobots alike were remiss to do much about it short of stationing someone there full time to chase him off, which neither side was willing to commit to at this point. The Autobots and humans seemed to mostly be hoping he’d eventually lose interest and leave. Megatron didn’t care at all so long as Astrotrain reported when he needed him and seemed content to let him do whatever it was he was doing in the hopes that it would eventually pay dividends. Thundercracker agreed this was probably the best approach to handling Astrotrain, who notoriously resented backseat driving.

“Have you honestly not given up on this?” Thundercracker asked, landing beside the bigger flier, who was in the process of observing several trains in which he had installed rudimentary AI as they tried to perform some basic tasks, like switching tracks, not colliding with each other, and coming to terms with their small place in the vast universe.

“Don’t mock my Astroforce, I’m doing you a favour,” Astrotrain snapped.

“You are, huh?”

“Your brother was here,” Astrotrain explained.

“Skywarp? What did he want?”

“How’d you know it was Skywarp?”

“You would have added an insult if it had been Starscream,” Thundercracker explained pragmatically. Astrotrain shrugged.

“Fair,” he said. “Yeah, it was Skywarp. He asked me on a _date_ ,” Astrotrain explained. Thundercracker froze, then side-eyed the larger Decepticon, sizing him up.

“What’d you say?”

“No, obviously,” Astrotrain said, looking over at him and squinting. “Were you gonna jump me if I’d said yes? Damn, TC.”

“Why did you call me to tell me, then?”

“Well he didn’t seem wildly put-out by my saying no, which made me think he maybe had a list, and was going along this list asking various Decepticons and getting rejected,” Astrotrain explained. “Since we are almost friends, I thought I would tell you this.”

“Primus, Skywarp,” Thundercracker put his face in his hands and vented. “I can think of a few cons who aren’t gonna like getting asked. Also a few who might say yes just for kicks.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Alright, dumb question, but why’d you say no?” Thundercracker asked.

“You gonna try and hit me if you don’t like the answer?” Astrotrain replied.

“Maybe,” Thundercracker crossed his arms. Astrotrain chuckled.

“Seemed like Skywarp didn’t know what he was lookin’ for, is all. Don’t need that kind of responsibility. Also ‘cos you’d kill me in my recharge.”

“Accurate. Well, thanks for the heads up I guess.”

“You owe me a cube,” Astrotrain said sternly, leveraging a finger at Thundercracker.

“Sure, fine,” Thundercracker sighed. “I gotta go do some damage control on this,” he added, transforming and taking off towards the base.

 


	3. Death of a Ceiling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prowl causes space and time to bend, Jazz forgets how to be smooth, Wheeljack isn't sure, Sideswipe is, and Ratchet barely notices any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun chapter to write, but in retrospect, it is probably only funny to me. Have fun! Thanks for reading, and I love all your comments so much! <3

Prowl was concentrating.

Nobody knew on what. Since he had woken up after his three cryptic prophecies, he had said very little except to impatiently shush anyone who tried to talk to him in favour of staring directly at the ceiling, which was probably starting to develop holes in it from the sheer force of his stare. Nobody was willing to ask Prowl what he was so focused on. Even Bluestreak didn’t break the silence.

Jazz, who had been sitting for some time with their second in command, had begun to develop a theory. The theory was that, the longer Prowl focused like this, the more absurd reality became. Laws of physics were one by one being suspended. Prowl was somehow changing the behaviour of particles just by staring at them hard enough, imposing some kind of quantum moratorium on the usual logic of the universe.

Jazz was also convinced he was the only one aware of it. Bluestreak seemed to implicitly accept whatever was happening, he just waved his hands and made facial expressions like he usually would if he was having a normal conversation, except he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even use short-range comms. He carried on like this was absolutely normal for a solid one minute and forty two seconds – Jazz had timed it, and then walked out of the medbay like nothing was wrong. Ratchet had also accepted this behaviour as though it was normal. He seemed to approve of the silence, and had scowled like a librarian and shushed Jazz when he had tried to ask what was happening.

Jazz had come initially to sit with Prowl and briefly catch him up on work – Prowl usually worried about these things when he was in the medbay, and everyone had agreed keeping him generally in the loop was better for his health than leaving him out of it, even if they didn’t let him work on anything. But Prowl didn’t seem interested in work at all. Jazz had sat for a few minutes at first, expecting whatever strange meditation or seizure was happening to pass. Minutes had rapidly turned into hours, and now Jazz was trapped in an absurdity bubble. He couldn’t leave, he was mesmerized, entranced, and completely mortified.

The medbay doors opened, and Jazz was the only one who looked up. Sunstreaker was standing in the doors, but he didn’t enter, like he was immediately aware of whatever sphere of cosmic abeyance he had suddenly run up against. Even Sunstreaker, notoriously dense and self-centered, could detect that something strange was happening.

His optics met Jazz’s. Jazz watched him with dread and desperation. If anyone lacked the social decorum to break free of this madness, it was surely Sunstreaker.

But he made one fatal mistake – he hesitated. He stood in the doorway for much longer than anyone should stand in a doorway, probably because of his new relationship with Ratchet demanding some tact, Jazz guessed. Seconds turned into a minute. Jazz felt the coolant pumping through his system. Was Sunstreaker trapped in the doorway, now? How long until the madness spread into the hallway, to the entire Ark? Was this finally the end of the Autobot cause – a whole ship of bots too socially inept or polite to break an awkward silence?

Jazz was now trapped staring at Sunstreaker and vice versa. Jazz wracked his brain. He could comm someone, couldn’t he? But who? Who would be heroic and stupid enough to say anything and disturb Ratchet and Prowl, whose combined rank was the highest on the ship – even higher than Prime himself?

There were so many options Jazz didn’t know who to call. He was going to die here in this medbay, unable to decide who the most maladroit Autobot was. All was lost.

“All done,” Ratchet suddenly said, sounding pleased with himself. He’d been catching up on paperwork – updating everyone’s medical files with the results of their latest physical – and finally stacked the last datapad neatly on the completed pile. Jazz and Sunstreaker’s optics darted, following every detail of his movement with apprehension.

Ratchet seemed unaware of the horror he was perpetuating upon them, he was smiling to himself, feeling pleased with getting all this busywork done. He pushed back slightly from the desk, the wheels of his chair creaking ever so slightly. One scoot didn’t quite do it so he added another half-scoot, and then got up, one hand on the arm of the chair. He stepped out and pushed it back in. Every sound he made was like a landmine going off, Jazz and Sunstreaker totally held captive by each movement, each noise, neither one daring to even vent. One earth fly could have killed them both.

Ratchet carefully tucked the chair in and took a second to pick up the stylus he’d been writing with and place it in a cybertronian-sized mug that Spike had gotten him one year for Christmas that had the perplexing human phrase “world’s best mom” written on it for some reason. Spike had also gotten a similar mug for Optimus that sat on his perpetually neglected desk in his empty office and also housed his lonely stylus. Jazz watched Ratchet’s stylus as it tinged against the side of the mug like it was the chosen one, a beacon of hope for the future, or maybe the harbinger of Unicron, or possibly just a normal stylus.

Ratchet started to walk towards Prowl’s berth and briefly took a minute to check all the monitors. Jazz watched him, wracking his brain, trying to think of something to say. There were too many possibilities and by the time he had narrowed it down the opportunity had passed. Sunstreaker was staring daggers into him for missing his chance and condemning them to this hell for another indeterminate passage of time.

Finally, Ratchet pulled up a small stool and sat down next to Prowl, who was still staring at the ceiling.

“Well, Prowl, how are you feeling now?”

“I have a headache,” Prowl replied, scowling at the roof. Jazz glanced between the two of them, hunting for the chance to strike.

“That’s not so unusual. Is your processor done defragmenting yet?”

“Yes, it’s done,” Prowl said.

“That’s good, things are running at a good speed, then. You might have less of a headache if you took a little recharge,” Ratchet suggested softly. Prowl’s scowl deepened and he seemed to sink into the recharge slab and retreat into his chassis like a disgruntled turtle. “You’re not tired...?” Ratchet ventured. How could he be so calm!? Jazz wanted to scream.

“I’m very tired,” Prowl replied, as if sleep was a crime being committed against him.

“I have an idea, the movie is starting soon – we could take you to that, and then maybe you’ll be feeling tired enough to get to sleep. You’ve been trapped in the medbay and your own head all day.”

“Perhaps,” Prowl still seemed grumpy, but what about was unclear. Ratchet didn’t seem to think it was important to get to the root of the issue right now, and Jazz sensed that this was correct – Prowl was useless at discussing anything bothering him when he was grumpy. It was better for everyone to wait until he’d calmed down or had an angry nap.

“I’ll get you a wheelchair,” Ratchet said, getting back up and heading towards the supply closet. He opened it, and Wheeljack toppled out, falling flat on his face. Everyone paused. Ratchet stood over Wheeljack, who was laying face down on the floor, trembling slightly. Sunstreaker stood in the door and stared. Jazz sat next to Prowl and stared. Prowl also stared, but at the ceiling, which seemed to be getting further and further away as it tried desperately to escape from his scrutiny.

“Wheeljack?” Ratchet asked after a second.

“Er – sorry,” Wheeljack said. He slowly started to push himself up, trembling. Jazz caught sight of his optics and suddenly knew: Wheeljack had also been trapped, unwilling to break the silence, in the supply room for the past several hours. Wheeljack looked at Jazz and knew he knew, and they established a new and deeper understanding of each other and themselves in that moment, united by a new mutual trauma.

“How long have you been in there?” Ratchet asked as Wheeljack got up. “Did you fall asleep against the door or something?”

“Uhm – er – y-yeah,” Wheeljack stammered, rubbing the back of his head. Jazz knew he was lying. Sunstreaker also knew he was lying. They would take his secret to their graves.

“You’re lying, but I don’t know why,” Ratchet immediately revealed as he went into the room and got the chair he needed. “All three of you are acting awfully strange,” he added. Jazz felt a bead of condensation drip down the side of his face because of how much coolant was flooding his system. _You’re the ones acting strange!_ He wanted to snap, but still couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

“Prowl was resting and we just didn’t want to disturb him,” Sunstreaker half-lied, finally working up the courage to speak.

“He seemed – uh – focused,” Jazz couldn’t bring himself to say peaceful. Prowl’s face was scrunched up with that terrible concentration, still, but inspecting him now, Jazz saw a flicker of something behind his optics, a slight tremble of his lips. Jazz’s vision quickly darted to his doorwings – quivering ever so slightly.

 _Oh no, he’s still really upset about something_ , Jazz thought. He couldn’t think of what it was – was he still mad at Sideswipe? Or about Jazz apparently making him dance in front of everyone? Some other new bizarre possible future that hadn’t actually happened?

“Alright, Sunstreaker, would you mind helping me get Prowl into the chair?” Ratchet said. Sunstreaker was finally freed from his doorway prison, but Jazz stood up before he could get there.

“Here, I got it, Ratchet,” Jazz said. He reached out to Prowl, who glanced at him but then looked away, sitting up stiffly. “Does he really need this?” Jazz asked as he gently helped Prowl help himself into the chair without having to pick him up. If he was upset, Jazz didn’t want to step on his pride, too.

“I’m going to insist for right now, since he’s still feeling groggy. He might need to re-calibrate some sensors, and it would be bad if he lost his balance and fell,” Ratchet explained.

“Fair enough,” Jazz said. “Assume you’re here to pick up your date, right, Sunny?” Jazz asked.

“Yeah,” Sunstreaker crossed his arms. Wheeljack shuffled awkwardly.

“Well, lemme take care of Prowl then, yeah? I’m sure he doesn’t wanna be your third wheel,” Jazz grinned, positioning himself behind the wheelchair.

“Is that alright with you, Prowl?” Ratchet asked. Prowl nodded gloomily. Wheeljack continued to fidget. “Okay, that seems acceptable to me. Thanks Jazz,” Ratchet said.

“You coming to the movie, Jackie?” Jazz asked as he started wheeling Prowl towards the door. Wheeljack darted after him, grateful to be free.

“Yeah, yes,” Wheeljack said. “I’m supposed to bring some snacks though, let me run and get those,” he added, turning on heel and transforming to race away down the hallway. Jazz felt a little stunned by the sudden departure, but shrugged, content to wheel the malcontent tactician down the hall in the other direction.

 

Sideswipe sighed, resting his head on the back of his chair. Powerglide had apparently gotten the movie recommendation from Astoria, who was not here to enjoy it as she had been thoroughly and unequivocally barred from getting within thirty kilometres of the base. Still, as a result of it being a recommendation and not someone’s random pick, it turned out to actually be a movie with some plot. Sideswipe was sure he would have enjoyed it had he been paying attention.

Not everyone was here – Optimus had opted out, as had a handful of others who needed to stay on watch duty and guard shifts, including Ironhide and Bluestreak, some of the aerialbots, etc. The Dinobots were also not here, because Grimlock couldn’t stop talking during the movies, and so they had set up a separate movie-event just for the Dinobots and whoever didn’t mind that sort of thing. Everyone else was arranged in a large semi-circle around the rec room. Sideswipe sat near the front and off to the side, more watching the crowd than the movie.

Sunstreaker, who normally would have sat with him for the movie, was instead sitting near the back with his arms wrapped around Ratchet, who was sitting comfortably in his lap. They both seemed fairly engaged with the movie. Sideswipe only glanced at them occasionally, desperately trying not to invade their privacy and failing. He distracted himself by instead watching Jazz and Prowl, which was fascinating in and of itself – Prowl was in a wheelchair and was wearing probably the most vividly emotional expression Sideswipe had ever seen him with. Unfortunately, Sideswipe had absolutely _no_ idea what emotion it was. It was somewhere on the negative spectrum, but Sideswipe couldn’t tell if he was angry, sad, or just mildly inconvenienced. Jazz at one point gently patted him on the shoulder and said something quietly to him, which just made Prowl sink even further into the chair. Jazz seemed to have some understanding of whatever was happening, but Sideswipe couldn’t divine it.

Part way into the movie Wheeljack quietly entered, and awkwardly gravitated towards the edges, finally sitting down next to Sideswipe at the same awkward angle. He loosely held out a little pack of rust-sticks, and Sideswipe took one as the engineer melted into his chair like a deflating bouncy castle.

<What’s up, Wheeljack?> Sideswipe asked over private comms so as not to disturb anyone.

<Hmmm?> Wheeljack asked, distracted.

<You seem, uh, a little bummed out, huh?> Sideswipe commented.

<I’m not bummed out,> Wheeljack replied, looking like the poster child for being bummed out. Sideswipe glanced over at him, then tracked his gaze – over to Ratchet and Sunstreaker.

<Ya got ditched by your bestie too, huh?> Sideswipe asked. Wheeljack and Ratchet did used to do most things together, he recalled, but unlike Sideswipe, Wheeljack had real hobbies and work to fill his time.

<Er, uh, no, it’s fine,> Wheeljack stammered, quickly turning his attention back to the screen. Sideswipe squinted at him.

<Are you – pining?>

<Am I what?>

<You know, pining. You look like – you remember that movie we watched last month about the – you know, that really bad one about the, the sparkling guy, and the other guy who was also a dog?>

<Uh, yeah?>

<You’re the dog guy,> Sideswipe explained.

<Oh,> Wheeljack, like Prowl, seemed to be affected by the epidemic of chairs that were also quicksand, as he somehow sank further into it. He paused. <That movie was really bad.>

<Yeah I didn’t really get it,> Sideswipe admitted.

<Is this movie any good?>

<Yeah, it seems much better, but I haven’t really been paying attention.>

<What’s it called?>

<Porky Ross or something. I don’t know.>

<Neat.>

<Do you – have like, uh, feelings? For Ratchet?> Sideswipe suddenly asked. Wheeljack awkwardly pressed two servos together, staring at the floor.

<Uh, maybe?> he replied. <But you know, it’s kind of, too late now,> he added.

<I dunno, maybe you should talk to him about it,> Sideswipe said.

<I don’t wanna get between him and Sunstreaker! They both seem really happy!>

<Easy, that’s super not what I’m suggesting,> Sideswipe bonked Wheeljack on the helm lightly. <I’m not trying to get you to be a homewrecker.>

<Oh,> Wheeljack said. <I don’t get it, then.>

<I mean, you’re friends, so if this is bothering you, I’m sure Ratchet’d wanna know about it, and maybe you can work something out. You’ll feel better, trust me.>

<I don’t want to make it weird,> Wheeljack complained, resting his head on his hands.

<Sounds like it’s already weird, my dude,> Sideswipe replied.

<It’s alright if it’s just me,> Wheeljack replied. Sideswipe shrugged.

<I mean, he’s Ratchet. He’s going to notice you being weird and ask you about it eventually. You can’t hide shit from mom, Jackie.>

<Eeeggh,> Wheeljack said, scratching his head.

<Well at least tell _me_ about it, > Sideswipe elbowed him.

<Well, it’s just that, Ratchet and I have been friends a long time, and I sort of thought we were – maybe more than that by now...I guess I took it for granted,> Wheeljack explained. <I never told him how I felt. I just assumed he felt the same.>

<Were you, like, planning to put the moves on him, or something?> Sideswipe asked.

<Not really. Not really into that. Didn’t know Ratchet was, actually. This’s all real sudden.>

<So you...hmm. So do you think that, like, Sunstreaker’s, you know, providing, a, uh, filling a role that you can’t for Ratchet?> Sideswipe fumbled.

<Uh, I guess?> Wheeljack put his face in his hands.

<And does it, uh, bother you?>

<It? Oh, you mean – er, no, it doesn’t, I guess.>

<So you’re kinda just upset because Ratchet maybe didn’t talk to you about it first?>

<It’s sort of like that I guess,> Wheeljack sighed again, fidgeting. He looked like he was getting frustrated. <I just feel bad. Like I wasn’t paying attention.>

<I mean, to be fair, you rarely are,> Sideswipe gestured vaguely to the movie they were supposed to be watching. <Neither one of us is exactly the poster child of staying focused.>

<Hey, no need to rub it in!>

<Anyways, listen: I think Ratchet dating Sunstreaker doesn’t actually really change anything about the relationship you have with Ratchet. You just have to talk to him about it, see how he feels. You’ll feel better.>

<Won’t Sunstreaker be jealous, though?>

<I have spent many, many years trying to figure out how Sunstreaker works. I have pushed so many buttons. I have suffered so many broken faceplates and dented afts. But never in my life have I managed to make Sunstreaker jealous.>

<You’re kidding me, not once?>

<I think the closest I’ve ever got is one time when we were low on supplies, I found this great canister of paint. But it was red, so I got to keep it. Sunstreaker’s finish had gone all to slag and there was nothing to fix it, so I think yeah, that time, he was maybe a little jealous. But mostly just mad, honestly,> Sideswipe shrugged, then held out his hands in front of him matter-of-factly. <Envy and jealousy, I figure, require some level of self-loathing. You feel like you’re lacking something, you see somebody with something you don’t have, and figure that’s the thing you need to fill the weird hole in your life. But Sunstreaker really, genuinely, deep down, loves himself. He thinks he’s great. He’s a total egoist. And not like Tracks – Tracks pretends he’s the greatest to cover up his lack of self-confidence. Pretends so hard even he believes it most of the time. Sunstreaker, on the other hand, believes, with almost total certainty, that he’s amazing.>

<I’m not really sure what you’re on to, here.>

<What I’m saying, Wheeljack – you can’t make Sunstreaker jealous. You can only make him mad.>

<I’m not sure that’s better. It seems to me that that’s worse, actually.>

<Oh Wheeljack. It definitely is. It’s so much worse.>

<What’s your thesis, here, then? I don’t know how this helps me.>

<Sunstreaker really loves Ratchet. He just wants him to be happy. So long as you make Ratchet happy, Sunstreaker couldn’t care less, I don’t think.>

<That sounds weird. That doesn’t sound normal,> Wheeljack said, rubbing his helm fin, confused.

<It’s super not. It’s completely bizarre. Sunstreaker is an unsolvable puzzle. He has never done this with anyone before. I don’t know if it’s good or bad. I’m completely losing my mind, actually.>

<Is that why you put Prowl in a coma?> Wheeljack asked.

<I didn’t do it on purpose! It was an accident and I’m very sorry,> Sideswipe put his face in his hands.

<He looks so miserable,> Wheeljack commented. <I wonder what’s wrong?>

<I dunno, maybe someone randomized all the datapads in the rec library again,> Sideswipe said.

<Jazz seems pretty worried about him.>

<Stop deflecting,> Sideswipe snapped.

<I’m – okay, I’ll talk to Ratchet. Sometime in the next week. Thanks, Sideswipe,> Wheeljack said.

<It’s no problem, Wheeljack.>

 

 


	4. Love Is Simple, War is Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ratchet and Sunstreaker have a good time, Dirge wins the unpopularity poll, and Bluestreak can't stop worrying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead! There it is! This chapter took a while to hammer out because I've been working on a comic project and it's been keeping me very busy!

Ratchet was pressed up against the wall of his habsuite with Sunstreaker’s head between his thighs when he got a comm from Wheeljack.

<Hey, Ratchet? Er, is this a good time?> Wheeljack asked as Ratchet jolted, faceplate turning bright pink as if he’d been caught stealing energon goodies, a crime he definitely had never and would never commit. As a result, he said the first thing that came into his head to say.

<Hi, Wheeljack? What’s up? How are you?> He said. He put a hand on Sunstreaker’s head and gently tapped him repeatedly to get his attention. Sunstreaker looked up, confused and slightly concerned. Ratchet pointed to the side of his head.

“Wheeljack,” he said out loud. Sunstreaker gave him a quizzical expression.

“Is it important?” he asked. Ratchet gave him an ‘I dunno’ shrug.

<Are you busy right now?> Wheeljack was asking.

<Uhm, I’ve got just about one minute, sure! Is it an emergency?> Ratchet continued to say as if he had not had Sunstreaker’s glossa lavishing his valve only seconds ago.

<No, I just – uh, have something I wanted to chat to you about,> Wheeljack said. Ratchet looked back at Sunstreaker.

“Not an emergency,” he said. Sunstreaker rested his head on his hand, a smile creeping onto his face.

“You forgot to set yourself to busy, huh?” he asked. Ratchet put a hand on Sunstreaker’s face, which Sunstreaker responded to by kissing his palm, which made Ratchet’s face start turning practically white with heat and embarassment.

<Sorry, sorry Wheeljack, what did you want to talk about?>

<Uh, you seem a little distracted. Why don’t we, er, catch lunch or something tomorrow?>

<Oh, okay, sure, that sounds good,> Ratchet replied. <I’ll see you then.>

<Seeya,> Wheeljack said, and the comm line buzzed closed. Ratchet quickly scrambled to set it to busy, sighing in relief.

“Can I continue?” Sunstreaker asked wryly.

“Wheeljack sounded a little upset, I wonder if something’s wrong,” Ratchet commented instead of replying. Sunstreaker stood up a bit, still keeping Ratchet pinned to the wall, kissing along his chassis and up to his neck.

“You wanna go talk to him?” Sunstreaker asked, sliding a hand up along the inside of Ratchet’s thigh towards his exposed and thoroughly lubricated valve.

“Ah – mm – ‘m gonna – talk to him to – mm – morrow,” Ratchet gasped as Sunstreaker slipped him a digit teasingly. “When I’m in a – less – compromising position,” he said.

“I can think of a more compromising position I would like you in,” Sunstreaker grinned into his neck cabling so Ratchet could feel his teeth.

“Walked right into that one, didn’t I,” Ratchet grimaced as Sunstreaker pressed a knee up between Ratchet’s thighs, spreading his legs further apart.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Sunstreaker replied, seizing him by the shoulders and turning him around, pinning him against the wall with one hand beside his head and his back to Sunstreaker, who pressed close, grinding against his aft. “Good?” Sunstreaker asked.

“Mm-hmm,” was all Ratchet managed to get out. Over the course of the past few weeks they’d discovered that Ratchet liked to be pinned almost as much as Sunstreaker liked to pin him, especially by his hands. Sunstreaker liked to show off and perform in the berth as much as he did anywhere else – possibly more – and as a result, he liked to be on top. Ratchet was happy to be more or less just his audience.

Sunstreaker kept his hands pressed hard against Ratchet’s chassis as he dragged them down along his body to his waist and thighs, pulling his aft out from the wall just enough to find the angle he needed. He felt the head of Sunstreaker’s spike touch the lips of his valve, and he pressed back into it encouragingly, which was more than enough to get Sunstreaker’s cylinders firing. It didn’t take much to get Sunny off, Ratchet had discovered. The mech ran hot and hard, and as much as he liked to pretend he had control of the situation while they interfaced, half the time he was all but lost to the moment, frantically pursuing their mutual pleasure.

This was not a thing Ratchet necessarily disapproved of. What he lacked in restraint Sunstreaker more than made up with in foreplay and endurance. It was also uncomplicated, which eased most of Ratchet’s discomfort vis-a-vis the berth. And, of course, it felt _very good_.

Sunstreaker didn’t waste time, and thrust his spike smoothly into Ratchet’s valve, which at this point was well accustomed to the incursion, but the stretch still made him moan. He pressed his face into the wall as Sunstreaker adjusted his position and angle, pinning one of Ratchet’s legs with his own and using the other for traction as he started with a slow, heavy pace, dragging nearly the full length of his spike in and out of Ratchet’s valve as if it was an encore for that first stroke. He found Ratchet’s hand again and twined his fingers with his, using his other arm to pull Ratchet’s hips into each thrust.

This bit wouldn’t last long – sometimes it barely even happened, depending on how long Sunstreaker had been anticipating their meeting. The first week and a half had been a lot of Sunstreaker basically jumping him as soon as they got through the habsuite doors, occasionally slightly before then. Ratchet had so far drawn a hard line on interfacing anywhere but his habsuite, so a couple of times Sunstreaker had just picked him up and carried him all the way there, sometimes at a jog, one time at a hard sprint. Ratchet hadn’t minded. Sunstreaker could barely contain his excitement, and the first overload was as much for pleasure as it was to blow off steam so they could engage in more intimate and slightly more conscious interfacing after.

As a result, their current engagement wasn’t exceptionally complex. Sunstreaker’s hands and mouth roved over Ratchet’s frame a little before finding the positions that afforded him the best grip and commiting. He kissed Ratchet’s face and neck before biting down lightly on his collar and pressing himself in close. He tested a few angles, shifting Ratchet’s aft and hips and lighting up the sensor nodes in his valve before finding just the right approach that the head of his spike would bump Ratchet’s ceiling node with each thrust. Once he’d settled on all of this, he buckled down with a satisfied grunt and quickened his pace.

And Ratchet loved this. There was something simultaneously intensely relaxing and still exciting in feeling Sunstreaker’s confidence that he’d made the best choice of all these things. Occasionally a hand would move, or he’d kiss Ratchet somewhere else, but mostly Sunstreaker focused on their point of connection, the pulsing heat of his spike pumping in and out of Ratchet’s valve.

Ratchet broke first, which tripped Sunstreaker into his overload, and he pulled Ratchet back, pressing his face into his neck and wrapping his arms around him. Ratchet reached back and cupped Sunstreaker’s head with a hand, turning to press his face into his helm and gasping as hot transfluid lined his tanks.

“Mm – Sunstreaker,” he moaned, which made Sunstreaker’s engine purr appreciatively. Ratchet leaned back, letting the frontliner take some of his weight, sighing.

“You good?” Sunstreaker asked as he extricated himself from Ratchet’s valve. They’d find a cloth or something in a second.

“I think a warm oil bath would be nice,” Ratchet said. Sunstreaker kissed the top of his helm.

“That does sound good,” he agreed.

 

Dirge didn’t know what he’d done to make Thundercracker mad.

It could have, he supposed, been any number of things. Dirge was not widely regarded among the Decepticons, he had been ranked as the second most gloomy and depressing on the base in a recent betting pool run by Swindle. The unequivocal winner had of course been Dead End, by so wide an assumed margin he had actually been excluded from the poll as an outlier that couldn’t be counted. Dirge’s margin for first place in the second place poll had been wide enough to surprise even him, however.

“You’re just kind of a downer,” Ramjet had explained. “And you’re always muttering to yourself.”

Despite all of this, Dirge had no idea what he could have done to earn even the attention of Thundercracker, who was, after all, a lot more important and well regarded than him. In a way, being even the object of the bigger, better, and prettier seeker was kind of exciting, even if Thundercracker seemed to be trying to kill him.

It had started when Dirge was flying a routine patrol. He hadn’t heard Thundercracker approach – as he was wont to do, the larger seeker had been breaking the sound barrier, and it was only after the jet was bearing down on him that the boom hit and nearly knocked Dirge out of the sky just by surprise. Initially he’d believed he was under attack by Autobots and had begun a confused immelman, flying straight up before cutting his engines to nosedive at what he assumed was a ground-based target – only to notice Thundercracker flying right beside him, much too close for comfort, and trying to force him into a landing.

Scrambling and unsure of what to do, Dirge had resisted, and was now being hounded progressively down towards the ground. Any time he tried to ascend Thundercracker would appear just above him, and the only way to avoid a collision was to move downward.

Dirge would have landed, except Thundercracker had herded him over the ocean, and Dirge wasn’t really waterproof.

Finally, with his underside skimming the waves and Thundercracker’s chassis practically scraping his cockpit, he cleared his voice over their communications.

<Er, Thundercracker, sir?> he asked.

<What,> Thundercracker replied.

<Are, you, uh, trying to, uh...should I, uh, be trying to land, here on the water, sir?> he asked.

<Are you a floatplane?> Thundercracker asked severely.

<Er, no, sir,> Dirge replied anxiously.

<Then no, idiot,> Thundercracker replied. He was silent for a minute, and Dirge tried to think of how to broach the issue.

<Well, sir, if I can – you’re flying, uhm, a bit close to me,> Dirge explained.

<Do you have a problem with that?> Thundercracker snapped.

<Well sir it’s just that I’m having some trouble maintaining my altitude,> Dirge attempted.

<And whose fault is that,> Thundercracker retorted. Dirge fell silent for another moment.

<Did I, uh, do something?> he ventured. Thundercracker was instead silent for a moment.

<Did Skywarp talk to you?> he asked suddenly.

<About...?>

<You’d know,> Thundercracker replied.

<Er, then, no, I guess?> Dirge said.

<If he talks to you, you’re going to say no, and if you don’t, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to drown you,> Thundercracker replied. Dirge felt a chill run through his spark.

<Yes sir,> he said.

<I can’t hear you,> Thundercracker snapped, forcing Dirge ever so slightly lower.

<YES, SIR!> Dirge shouted.

<Good,> Thundercracker said, suddenly peeling up and away. Dirge was left desperately trying to course correct before the sonic boom hit him and sent him careening away into the ocean anyways.

 

Sideswipe stretched out his shoulder joints and exvented heavily, folding his hands on his head. He was with Bluestreak, and they were a ways away from base, patrolling what had been described to him enthusiastically by Hound and Beachcomber as an old growth forest. He had to admit it _was_ noticeably more impressive than other forests he had seen – the trees were much taller than he was. Taller than even Skyfire, he figured. And there was enough space between them to walk about pretty comfortably.

Beachcomber and Hound, he knew, were also somewhere out here, but after they’d arrived for their scouting/patrol, the two nature enthusiasts had immediately paired off with each other and ran off into the woods, leaving Sideswipe alone with Bluestreak, who was being uncharacteristically quiet.

“Sooooo,” Sideswipe ventured. “You mad at me still?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Bluestreak said. “I dunno. Yeah? No? I dunno.”

“You’re, uh, clearly bothered,” Sideswipe said, feeling a sense of deja vu.

“Prowl still won’t really talk to anyone,” Bluestreak explained. “I’m worried! He’s not usually like this for more than a day. I think you broke him! Oh, god, what if you broke him!?”

“Ratchet said everything was fine,” Sideswipe said.

“Maybe he missed something! Prowl’s got a delicate processor!”

“Ratchet’s good at his job, and he knows Prowl’s head pretty good at this point, I think,” Sideswipe said. “But it is weird he isn’t really chatting with anyone. Maybe he’s mad about something?”

“If he was mad he’d tell me!” Bluestreak tapped his rifle on his palm anxiously, leaning forward to glance around the trees.

“Jazz is on it, it seemed to me, last I saw, anyways,” Sideswipe offered. “I’m sure he’ll be able to suss it out. He’s good with people,”

“Prowl’s not exactly the kind of people Jazz is good at,” Bluestreak huffed.

“Yeah he’s a little bit of an odd duck,” Sideswipe agreed, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back to look up at the forest canopy. Light trickled down, turning his plating into a patchwork of red and brown. “But I mean. Have you seen the autobots on our base? We are not what I would describe as standard issue.”

“Mmm,” Bluestreak grumbled again.

“Hey, I know what it’s like to worry about your unsociable brother,” Sideswipe said. “But you’ve made it clear to Prowl you’re there for him, so maybe give him space to come to you, huh?”

“I _guess_ ,” Bluestreak said, exactly like one of Perceptor’s teenagers proven wrong by simple logic.

“Look at me, solving everyone’s problems, I’m a real wizard since Jazz put me on all this extra duty,” Sideswipe decided to change the subject. It seemed to him like Bluestreak was more like his brother than anyone liked to admit, at least in the sense that he tended to obsess about things he couldn’t fix.

“What?” Bluestreak asked, barely paying attention.

“Wheeljack also had some problems I talked to him about,” Sideswipe explained.

“What kinda problems?” Bluestreak asked, suddenly paying a little attention.

“Just, you know, uh, feelings, problems,” Sideswipe waved a hand, suddenly realizing he’d chosen a bad topic of conversation. He scrambled. “Do you think Jazz and Prowl are a thing?” he blurted, and immediately regretted it. Bluestreak took a second to process, then, like a cat, jumped a solid three or four feet off the ground – not very high in Autobot terms, actually, but high enough to illustrate his shock. His doorwings formed a sharp V and he turned on a heel to face Sideswipe.

“WHAT?!” he shouted. Sideswipe leaned away from the noise as if assaulted.

“Uh, they were – being chummy! At the movienight! Is all! Or – Jazz was and – Prowl was – kind of doing this thing like an earth turtle, you know, they go into their shells? It’s really cute --”

“CHUMMY?!” Bluestreak continued to shout.

“You’re gonna scare the animals,”

“WHAT DOES CHUMMY MEAN?!” Bluestreak stepped even closer into Sideswipe’s personal space. Sideswipe weighed his options. He could try to change the subject again – which he didn’t think would work – or he could run away – but the chase would probably wreck the trees, and there was honestly nothing worse than making Beachcomber cry – or he could lay down on the ground and curl into a ball.

He chose the final option, dropping to the mossy forest floor and covering his head while Bluestreak exploded into mostly indecipherable chatter, raining questions on Sideswipe like fire bombs or flak cannons or rice at a wedding. The tirade lasted a while, so Sideswipe played a series of mental games of tic-tac-toe with himself. His win-loss ratio was exactly 1:1 by the time Bluestreak finally started to slow down enough to be understood. Blurr may have been the fastest talking Autobot, but Bluestreak had him beat hands down for endurance.

“SIDESWIPE!” he shouted, shaking Sideswipe by the shoulders.

“Ya done?” Sideswipe asked, glancing up at the angry Praxian.

“Yes – no – what are you talking about?!”

“Sunstreaker told me Jazz was offering to look after Prowl when Ratchet’s been off-duty, ‘cos otherwise he’d have to pull overtime to monitor him,” Sideswipe explained. “And he was being friendly – in a friend way I wanna emphasize in a friend way not friendly in a weird way just like you know patting him on the shoulder kinda friendly – during the movienight, which I did see,” Sideswipe explained from his spot on the mossy patch.

“But Prowl’s never dated anybody,” Bluestreak said.

“This seems to be a general trend with Autobots on the Ark,” Sideswipe commented. “Maybe it was part of the pre-screening selection. But then how did I get on...” Sideswipe pondered aloud.

“I’d be off too,” Bluestreak considered, momentarily distracted. He shook his head, refocusing. “I’m sure he’s just worried! They’re friends.”

“Yeah, I might be reading into it. I have had my rose-tinted optical lenses on lately,” Sideswipe admitted.

“I don’t know that one,” Bluestreak said.

“Uh, like, I see, the, uh, world in a biased light....usually like, romanticized?” Sideswipe explained.

“Oh,” Bluestreak said. “Well, that might be it,” he said.

“They’d be cute, though,” Sideswipe added, finally pushing himself up.

“I guess,” Bluestreak shrugged. “I dunno, that’s just a lot to think about for me right now. There’s a lot going on these days it feels like. Everybody’s gotten all weird about stuff since, you know, they remembered dating was a thing we used to do,” Bluestreak sighed.

“Who else is being weird?” Sideswipe asked.

“Well, Red Alert and Inferno are awkwardly avoiding each other now, which is horrible, because nobody’s around to stop Red when he...yanno, does his...spy stuff. It seems like Hound and Mirage are in some weird perpetual cat-and-mouse game now too. Or I guess dog and cat? I don’t know earth animals that well. But I can’t sit down and have a conversation with either of them without something going on. Wheeljack is always sighing, and I don’t hardly see Sunstreaker or Ratchet outside of duty hours. Even Spike and Carly are being weird, and Sparkplug keeps laughing quietly at everybody. It’s really creepy,” Bluestreak explained.

“Hound and Mirage? Really? Huh.” Sideswipe said.

“I dunno if they’re dating. It might actually be a gambling thing. Beachcomber and Cliffjumper were making bets with Smokescreen.”

“God, it could be both, that’s even weirder, honestly,” Sideswipe said, but then shrugged. “I dunno though. It’s disruptive, but I don’t mind. Everything on Cybertron sucked slag. It’s nice to have things feel...I dunno, chill enough for this kinda idiotic stuff.”

“Do you still have nightmares?” Bluestreak suddenly asked. Sideswipe blinked, surprised, and finally decided to haul himself back into a sitting position. Bluestreak stood over him tensely.

“Yeah,” Sideswipe admitted, looking at his hands.

“I dream about Praxus a lot. About the smell,” Bluestreak explained. His doorwings were quivering slightly.

“Mine’s about Sunstreaker,” Sideswipe said quietly. “It’s always different, but, we’ll be – doing something. Something normal, like a boardgame. In our old house. I’ll go get us an energon cube or look away and then he’s gone,” Sideswipe said. “I can’t find him. In the dream I know he’s dead, and then I somehow manage to convince myself I’m not dreaming.”

“I have that kind of dream about Prowl, sometimes,” Bluestreak replied, sitting down. “I’m just doing something normal and then Ratchet or someone comes and tells me he’s gone.” He paused. “Sometimes it’s worse, though. He’s there but he’s...just a calculator. He doesn’t know who anyone is, he just fights the war like it’s a math equation he can solve. He doesn’t know who I am. He’s there but he’s gone.”

They sat for a moment, Sideswipe looked at his hands. Birds flitted about, the sun dripped heavy yellows and oranges across the forest floor.

“I have those dreams too,” Sideswipe said. Sunstreaker slathered in energon, tearing apart decepticons with his teeth and his fingers. Rounding on him with overbright optics and a mouth full of energon. “It’s funny,” Sideswipe laughed, putting a hand over his mouth. “He always kills me. I never win, even in my own dream.”

“Yeah, I always give up and die, too,” Bluestreak scratched his helm.

“God, we’re depressing, huh?” Sideswipe said. “But look at this place. It’s not on fire and no one’s died since we landed. Maybe we can finally stop having nightmares.”

“I’ll always have ‘em, I think,” Bluestreak said. “I think maybe I’ve got to carry it around with me. I – don’t really want to put it down, is that strange?”

“Yeah, that’s a little strange,” Sideswipe said. “But you’ll figure it out. We’ll all figure it out sometime.” he paused, then stood up, offering Bluestreak a hand. “I am sorry about Prowl though. I’ll see if I can talk to him, if you want? I get it better now why you’re worried.”

“You don’t have to,” Bluestreak said.

“Eh, I should, I am the one who ruined his week.”

 

 


	5. Aw, Beans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wheeljack is an idiot, Sideswipe meditates badly, and Prowl's always right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been like two months!! I'm very sorry -- I was busy, and then I was away for a month!! This is a shortish update but lots happens in it. I didn't proofread it at all because I wanted to get something out! It's nice to post things! Thanks for your patience!

Wheeljack fidgeted, passing the cup of energon back and forth between his fingers before picking it up and taking a sip, then going back to tapping at the table. There were a few mechs in the mess for lunch, but it was a little early – Ratchet tended to take his breaks just as patrol shifts changed, because with double the autobots in the field, there was a slightly reduced chance of getting attacked.

But Wheeljack had been feeling anxious, and so he’d gotten there a half hour early, and now suffered the worst punishment: having to sit alone with his own thoughts. He hadn’t even thought to bring a datapad to read, or a blueprint to finish, part to tinker with. He was considering finding a way to turn his lunch into a bomb when Ratchet scooted into place across from him with his own cup of energon.

“Hi, Wheeljack!” Ratchet beamed.

“Hi, Ratchet,” Wheeljack burbled. He cleared his vocalizer hastily.

“How have you been?” Ratchet asked, sipping his energon.

“Alright! How about you?” Wheeljack asked. He stared at Ratchet, who really was radiating an aura of cheerfulness that was simultaneously off-putting and comforting – off-putting because Ratchet was normally much fussier, and comforting because his non-fussing meant no one was wildly injured.

“I’m doing well. I discharged Prowl today, though I’ve told him to stay off the duty roster for a couple more days – light work to stay caught up only. There are no other patients at the moment so I’ve had lots of time to update records and equipment, and I think I can even get a start on shoring up our custom parts replacements.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Wheeljack replied. “Do you need any help with anything?”

“No, no, I think I’ve got it all under control. It’s nice to have the medbay to myself for a while, too,” Ratchet said. “Not that I don’t love your company Wheeljack,” he added thoughtfully.

“No, I understand,” Wheeljack nodded. “You get in the zone and stuff.”

“Speaking of which, though, you wanted to talk about something?” Ratchet asked, his voice taking on a concerned edge that made Wheeljack shiver a bit.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Wheeljack said, rubbing the back of his head. “So uh – uh – you and, uh, Sunstreaker, huh?” he stammered. Ratchet stared at him without reacting, then glanced around like he was searching for the correct expression to make, ultimately settling with something between quizzical and worried. “Er – I mean – I, uh, uh,” Wheeljack continued to stammer, looking anywhere but Ratchet’s face. “You – we never – talked about it?” Wheeljack said, flustered.

“Oh. I guess we didn’t? It all happened pretty quickly,” Ratchet ventured. He paused, looking at the table, then back up at Wheeljack. “Should we have?”

“You’re my best friend!” Wheeljack burst out. “I – wish you’d told me about it? I – dunno, I thought...”

“Oh.” Ratchet sipped his energon, thinking, and then sighed and put down the cup. “Listen, Wheeljack --”

Wheeljack did not hear the next part due to the sirens as a base-wide alarm began to wail. Ratchet stood up from the table immediately and began running towards the door, and after a second of mortified confusion Wheeljack followed, tripping over his own feet and nearly eating the rec-room floor.

“What’s going on?” Ratchet asked Ironhide, who was running down the hall.

“Decepticons in the hills, near the woods. Need back-up and medical,” Ironhide replied before transforming and speeding off down the hall. Ratchet immediately followed him, but Wheeljack waited behind, unsure of whether or not he was needed to prepare the medbay or in the field. Normally, Prowl or Jazz would have given those orders, but Prowl was out of the loop, and Wheeljack didn’t know where Jazz was. Was he the one injured?

“I’ll – I’ll stay here and – the medbay!” Wheeljack shouted after Ratchet, who flashed his rear lights in confirmation before rounding the corner. Wheeljack was left to stand alone, and took a moment to put his face in his hands.

“I’m a dummy,” he said before turning around and running towards the medical bay.

 

Sideswipe lay with his hands neatly folded over his chest, staring up at a stalactite, which dripped water down onto his face, directly between his optics. He could have moved his head to avoid it, but it was the only entertaining thing he had to do in the cave, trapped as he was. It also distracted him from the terrible pain in his foot, which was pinned, along with his entire brother, underneath a boulder. He could tell Sunstreaker was alive, but probably offline. If he was awake, he’d probably be yelling, and even though it would be muffled by the boulder, Sideswipe knew he would hear it in the near silence of the cave.

Someone sighed.

Sideswipe blinked as another drop of water smacked him between the eyes as he heard rocks shift, and someone got up and started walking around. He twisted his head to look around, and caught sight of two black and purple feet. His spark skipped a beat.

Skywarp sighed again as he took a seat somewhere not too far from where Sideswipe was pinned. Sideswipe’s optics darted left and right as he tried to locate a weapon close enough to reach. He could see his rifle, but it was way out of reach. He shuttered his optics and pretended to be dead or unconscious.

 _If rocks fall in the cave this week, be considerate to Skywarp_.

Sideswipe’s optics snapped back open involuntarily as Prowl’s prophecy played back in his head.

“Oh – hey, Autoidiot,” Skywarp said, noticing the light of his optics.

“Aw, beans,” Sideswipe said. “You got me. I lose,” he threw up his hands in mock defeat.

“Pfft. Yeah, you’re dead,” Skywarp said, making a gun with his fingers and pretending to fire straight at Sideswipe’s head. Another drop of water hit Sideswipe between the eyes, and Skywarp snickered.

“...Okay, but you’re uh, not actually gonna?” Sideswipe ventured.

“Nah,” Skywarp sighed. “If I killed you, I’d have to dig up and kill your brother too, or else he’d kill me back, big revenge cycle, you know,” Skywarp waved a hand.

“And you, uh, don’t wanna kill Sunstreaker?” Sideswipe asked quizzically. “That’s weird, because even most of the Autobots want to kill Sunstreaker.”

“Pfft. If I kill ‘im, your medic will be all sad,” Skywarp said. “I don’t wanna wreck all that just yet.”

“Oh,” Sideswipe said. He folded his hands back over his chassis. “That’s nice of you.”

“They’re _cute_ okay!!!” Skywarp snapped. “None of the Decepticons are that cute!!! We’re a bunch of idiots and I hate every last one of ‘em,” Skywarp huffed.

“I see, I see,” Sideswipe tried to think of how to be considerate, parsing through what Skywarp had said for clues. “Oh. Oh,” Sideswipe said. “You – got rejected, huh? That stinks, sorry my dude.”

“Ooogh, you’re gonna go tell all the Autobots about it and they’re gonna make fun of me, too,” Skywarp put his face in his hands. Sideswipe waved a hand.

“Nah, I’ll only tell Prowl for tactical reasons, and he doesn’t get jokes, so you’re good.”

“What, really? Why not?” Skywarp asked. Sideswipe shrugged.

“Getting shot down sucks! I mean – well, literally and figuratively,” Sideswipe replied. Skywarp chuckled again, but then went back to sighing.

“Everybody I asked said no. Some of ‘em even said no before I asked,” Skywarp sighed.

“Wait – did you ask _everyone_?”

“Well, you know, I made a list of ‘cons I thought it’d be fun to date, and just those ones. I didn’t ask out idiots like _Dirge_ or whatever,” he huffed.

“Oh. Well, I guess you don’t have a lot of options,” Sideswipe crossed his arms, thinking. Another drop of water hit him in the face. “You are not wrong about all the Decepticons being losers or – creeps, honestly,” Sideswipe said.

“Starscream heard about it and he won’t stop making fun of me, so I guess I’m an idiot too,” Skywarp huffed.

“Aw, don’t say that,” Sideswipe waved a hand. “Looking for a little love and support isn’t dumb. Starscream’s a dumb jerk.”

“Mmyeah,” Skywarp mumbled noncommittally.

“Well, maybe there’s just nobody for you right now among the ‘cons. Honestly probably for the best,” Sideswipe said. “Why not take a little you-time instead? Or maybe get, uh, a pet dog or something?”

“A pet _dog_?” Skywarp scoffed.

“Dogs are honestly great. I love dogs. Don’t knock dogs.”

“Fine, fine. I don’t think Ravage’d like it though, so maybe not.”

“Good point. Great point. Forgot about Ravage. Uh,” Sideswipe considered. “I dunno. But you know. You’re not dumb for wanting a relationship. It’ll happen someday. Universe just figures it isn’t meant to work out at the moment and all that junk.”

A large boom suddenly shook the cavern, and Sideswipe jumped – as much as someone pinned under a boulder could jump, which was not at all, so he just waved his arms in the air instead.

“Oh, that’s Thundercracker. Probably worried about me,” Skywarp said, standing up. “Thanks for the – pep talk? I dunno, this whole thing was weird, don’t tell anyone about it, yeah?”

“Like I said, only Prowl, for tactical reasons,” Sideswipe gave Skywarp a thumbs up.

“Yeah, alright, fair,” Skywarp returned the gesture, then disappeared with a loud popping noise. A few seconds later, Sideswipe started to hear the distant sound of an ambulance, some cursory laserfire, and then two jet engines vanishing into the distance.

“What the fuck, Prowl.” He sighed, resting his head on the ground as another drop of water hit him between the eyes.

 

 


	6. I Don't Like Fun, I Like Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sideswipe does his job, Jazz solves a puzzle, Prowl is tired, Ratchet doesn't know how he feels, and Thundercracker definitely knows how he feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Didn't rush this one, just had a nice time, thanks for your comments! I like how the first half of this turned out! We're winding down here, I think there's a couuupleee chapppters leffft? Seems like we're almost there. Thanks for reading, I hope you're enjoying it, haha!

Ratchet rubbed his face.

Sunstreaker had been knocked unconscious, and with quite a whack to the head from the prophesied falling rocks – a whack bad enough that Ratchet had been concerned about processor damage. In addition, one of his arms had been crushed, most of his plating was badly dented and needed to be removed so it could be reforged, and worst of all (to Sunstreaker whenever he awoke), his paint was badly scuffed. The arm would take some work, but as ever, there were plenty of spare parts for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

Sideswipe had been all but fine: one of his feet had been damaged, but it was simple to replace the gears and tweak some of the wiring, and he was out of the medbay within an hour. Sunstreaker would be overnight at least while Hoist and Grapple repaired his plating and Ratchet fixed the servos in his hand. All in all, it was nothing too serious.

But then there was Wheeljack.

Ratchet sighed and picked up the tray of buckled parts he’d pulled out of Sunstreaker’s arm, placing it on his desk to sort through later before heading to the store room to fish out replacements. Hands were always tricky to repair – maintaining fluid motion and detailed sensation required a level of finesse most medics didn’t have. And, honestly, didn’t need – during the war, most hands only needed to be repaired enough to make a fist and pull a trigger.

He didn’t know what to say to Wheeljack.

Ratchet lined up the parts he needed to repair Sunstreaker’s arm on a worktable beside the still-unconscious mech. The medbay doors opened, and he glanced up, spark jumping – but it was just Prowl, frowning deeply over a datapad. Ratchet quirked an optic at him – he’d been frowning considerably harder than was usual for Prowl. Prowl did often frown, but it was usually more of a gentle look of concentration or frustration than the deep-set malcontent that had become his default expression since he’d awoken from his mini-coma.

“Hello, Prowl,” Ratchet said as Prowl came and sat in the seat on the other side of Sunstreaker’s medberth.

“Hello, Ratchet,” Prowl somehow managed to choke out from behind his frown. “I’m here to collect the injury report.”

“Oh, yes. Do you want me to deliver it to you verbally, or if you wait I can write it up for you?” Ratchet asked.

“Verbally is fine,” Prowl replied, wiggling a stylus in his fingers to show he had it and was prepared to tick the necessary boxes.

“Right. Sunstreaker’s injuries are mostly superfluous – his armour was badly damaged, but did its job protecting most of his internals. His right arm, however, was crushed, and needs serious but not life-threatening repairs. Sideswipe suffered similar injuries, but only to his left leg below the knee, and has been fully repaired. Injuries were caused by falling rocks. I’ll submit a parts list when repairs are completed.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said after he was done checking off boxes. He frowned at the datapad for a moment.

“And how are you recovering, Prowl?” Ratchet asked thoughtfully as he resumed work on Sunstreaker’s arm.

“I’m fine, I don’t need more medbay time,” Prowl replied curtly.

“I won’t stop you from working, I know it stresses you out to have too much backlog. Jazz has been working hard to help you out, I hear?”

“Yes.” Prowl did not seem moved by Jazz’s compassion or Ratchet’s interest.

“Your face is going to get stuck like that,” Ratchet commented, opting for a more blunt approach. Prowl somehow managed to frown harder. Ratchet blinked slowly and sarcastically at him. “You’re worrying Bluestreak. He’s been overfueling from stress,” Ratchet went for the jugular. Prowl deflated ever so slightly, but stubbornly held onto his frown.

“I’m recovering just fine.”

“Physically, yes. Emotionally, maybe not so much. Are you mad at Sideswipe?” Ratchet asked. Prowl drilled holes in the floor with his optics to match the ones he’d put in the roof.

“No,” Prowl said, finally.

“Do you wish mechs around the base respected you more?” Ratchet suggested.

“I wish they wouldn’t tease me, but no, I know they respect me when it counts,” Prowl replied.

“Is it the teasing then? You did say something strange about Jazz embarrassing you in front of everyone when you woke up that first time,” Ratchet offered, gently tugging a bit of torn coolant line loose from where it was caught in a gear.

“I – said those out loud?” Prowl’s expression finally broke as his faceplate heated up.

“Prowl!” Sideswipe’s voice suddenly rang out as the medbay doors flew open and he jogged in. “Prowl, your prediction! About the rocks and Skywarp! It was _true_! You’re a witch!” Sideswipe shouted as he darted over to where Prowl was sitting, holding a datapad. “I put it all in my report!” he added, thrusting the datapad into Prowl’s hands.

“ _You_ wrote a report?” Ratchet and Prowl asked simultaneously, both of them equally surprised. It was Sideswipe’s turn to blush.

“Er – yeah! I – hey!” He frowned and crossed his arms. “I do reports!”

“Do you?” Ratchet asked.

“I do!”

“ _Do you_?” Ratchet asked again.

“I don’t,” Sideswipe admitted, deflating. “But I wanted to tell Prowl about this one, so,” Sideswipe pointed at the datapad and clapped his hands in excitement.

“I’ll look over it later,” Prowl said.

“But I – really worked hard on it!” Sideswipe whined, practically bouncing from foot to foot.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Prowl’s frown had returned.

“But Prowl,” Sideswipe continued to complain.

“No! I’ll look at it later! I don’t want to right now!” Prowl snapped, getting to his feet. Sideswipe took a step back at the abruptness of the gesture.

“But you like to read reports?” Sideswipe asked, genuinely confused. Prowl held his hands up to his face, sucking in a deep vent – doorwings were practically vertical, his hands twisting back and forth, a look on his face like a bomb gets when it is about to explode.

“I _don’t_! I don’t like reading reports! I hate reading reports! I hate writing reports! I hate all the tactics and planning and I hate cleaning up everything all the time! I hate it! I hate my job! I want to go home and sleep for a century! The war will _never_ end, and I’m _tired_!” Prowl shouted. Sideswipe took a step back, and Ratchet set down his tools.

“Oh, Prowl,” Ratchet said.

“I’m going to my room and I don’t want to talk to anybody ever again,” Prowl snapped, snatching up the datapads with great spite and heading towards the medbay door, which was open and currently occupied by a stunned looking Jazz.

“Prowl --” Jazz began. Prowl held up a hand.

“Don’t talk to me! Don’t look at me! Don’t!” Prowl snapped. Jazz looked over at Ratchet incredulously as the tactician stormed away down the hall.

“Maybe leave him alone for now,” Ratchet said.

“Yeah, I think that’s the correct diagnosis,” Jazz said, stepping into the medbay.

“Man, what a drama queen,” Sunstreaker said groggily. Ratchet whacked him on the shoulder gently.

“Leave him alone, he’s got a lot to deal with.”

“Hey, me too apparently,” Sunstreaker grumbled, gesturing to his destroyed arm with his functional one.

“You’re fine,” Ratchet chastised.

“If you say so,” Sunstreaker shrugged. “Hey, idiot,” he greeted Sideswipe, who was still a little stunned.

“Hi, asshole,” Sideswipe returned reflexively.

“At least I know what’s eating him, now,” Jazz interjected. Ratchet nodded.

“I’m not sure what to do about all that, though,” Ratchet said, returning to working on Sunstreaker’s arm. “A vacation, maybe, but Prowl’s sorely needed around the base.”

“It’s a conundrum. He can’t live with us, we can’t live without him,” Jazz chuckled. “Well, maybe I’ll inspire some of our looser ends to do a little extra work like Sideswipe here, see if we can’t pull ahead.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that,” Ratchet nodded.

“I’ll go talk to him later,” Sideswipe suddenly said. Ratchet glanced up at him.

“You?”

“Er, well, I still wanna know how he predicted the Skywarp thing,” Sideswipe admitted sheepishly.

“I’ll catch him tomorrow, after he’s recharged,” Jazz said. “Don’t bug him if he tells you to go away today though,” he warned Sideswipe.

“I won’t! I don’t bug people!”

“Yes, you do,” Sunstreaker said blandly, staring vaguely at the ceiling.

“I do not,” Sideswipe crossed his arms.

“You’re also the poster child of self-delusion,” Sunstreaker added. Sideswipe punched him in the shoulder gently.

“Glad you’re okay,” he said.

“You too. Please fuck off,” Sunstreaker said.

“Yeah, fine,” Sideswipe said, waving as he took his leave.

“I’ll catch you later, too,” Jazz said, waving two servos. Ratchet nodded at them.

“Bye,” Sunstreaker waved his functional hand at nothing in particular, optics still locked on the ceiling. Once the medbay doors had closed, he looked over at Ratchet. “How you doin’?” he asked.

“I’m worried,” Ratchet sighed, going back to work on Sunstreaker’s arm.

“I’m fine, you said so yourself,” Sunstreaker replied.

“Not about you – well, I was, but I’m not anymore – about Wheeljack,” Ratchet replied. Sunstreaker raised his head slightly and looked around.

“Did he blow himself up or something?” he asked.

“No, he’s – he’s upset I didn’t talk to him about you and I,” Ratchet said. Sunstreaker quirked an optical ridge.

“Should you have?”

“That’s what I said,” Ratchet sighed. “I understand why he’s upset, I guess, I just – didn’t realize he would be?”

“Why’s he upset, then?” Sunstreaker asked.

“Oh – I don’t know how to explain. Was Sideswipe upset when we started seeing each other? Did you tell him about it?”

“He caught on, and yeah, he was. I didn’t know Wheeljack was your brother, though.”

“He’s my best friend,” Ratchet explained.

“Is that similar to being a brother.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Ratchet said. “Kind of. Close.”

“Well, I guess I get it then. I didn’t think it was any of Sideswipe’s business, but that did make him upset. I wouldn’t care if he was dating someone and didn’t tell me, but I’m me. Would you care if Wheeljack had started dating someone and didn’t tell you?”

“I – would be happy for him, but I guess I would miss hanging out with him. I don’t know if I would be upset about it...”

“Well. What do you want to do about it?” Sunstreaker asked, fiddling around with his good arm for the control that would let him raise his head up so he could watch Ratchet work.

“I don’t know,” Ratchet grumbled. “I guess there’s no harm in apologizing. I don’t want things to be strained between us, and if I’ve hurt his feelings I’m genuinely sorry. But I just – don’t know what I’m apologizing for,” he sighed.

“Hmm. Can’t help you much. I wouldn’t say sorry,” Sunstreaker gave a crooked shrug.

“You’re bad with people,” Ratchet teased.

“I’m pretty good with you,” Sunstreaker smirked, winking an optic. Ratchet whacked his arm again, gently. Sunstreaker chuckled, but then reached over with his good hand to rest a servo on Ratchet’s helm, tugging his head up. “In all seriousness though. It’ll be fine. I’m sure Wheeljack’s just being a big baby and he’ll get over it. If he doesn’t, I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t kill Wheeljack,” Ratchet leaned a little closer to him, and Sunstreaker kissed him lightly on the chevron.

“I’ll just beat him up then.”

“No, don’t do that either.”

“Threats.”

“No.”

“Vague threats.”

“No.”

“Glaring.”

“Be nice.”

“Fine.”

 

Thundercracker did not like Starscream. They had, at some point, been brothers, but Thundercracker thought of this as a distant and ephemeral past. There were many components to the schism that had opened up between them – various betrayals, snide comments, the way in which Starscream discarded Thundercracker and Skywarp like they were genericons if he thought it would save his aft or strengthen his standing – but a large piece of the puzzle lay in Starscream’s treatment of their mutual youngest brother, Skywarp.

Thundercracker did not approve of Skywarp’s ill-advised quest for romance among the Decepticons for a number of reasons, but he would be dead and stripped for parts before he let Starscream mock him for it. This was the reason why Thundercracker’s fist was presently in the process of breaking Starscream’s recently reconstructed faceplate.

“Ow!” Starscream shouted, holding his bleeding nose. Thundercracker loomed over him, ready to follow up with more punches.

“TC, cut it out!” Skywarp said, grabbing his arm. “You’re gonna get in trouble!”

“I don’t care, I’ve put up with enough of his stupid mouth!” Thundercracker snapped.

“It’s not worth it!” Skywarp said, quieter. “He’s right anyways, so.”

“He is _not_! You’re not stupid.”

“Yes he _is_! He’s a Decepticon and he should act like one!” Starscream snapped back. “I won’t tolerate this – this mushy idiot garbage from my subordinates! Asking out half of the entire base – it reflects poorly on this trine, which reflects poorly on _me_!”

“He’s your _brother_! You don’t get to treat him like dirt just because it might make you look bad!” Thundercracker yelled back, raising a fist to rain down another blow on Starscream, who scrambled out of reach.

“That’s enough, Thundercracker! I’m sending you to the brig!!” Starscream shrieked, pointing a finger at Thundercracker as if he had the magic power to instantly transport him there.

“You and what army?” Thundercracker asked ominously, looming over Starscream, who glanced around.

“Skywarp! Take Thundercracker to the brig!” he barked as his eyes caught Skywarp. Skywarp blinked, then looked at Thundercracker, then back at Starscream. He shrugged.

“No?” he suggested.

“This is treason!! I’ll throw you _both_ in the brig!” Starscream put his hands on his hips.

“No, you won’t,” Thundercracker replied.

“Why not?!” Starscream took a few more steps back, smart enough to know he was outnumbered.

“Because we’re leaving,” Thundercracker replied. “We’ll be back whenever we feel like it. Come on, Skywarp,” he said, grabbing the purple Seeker by the arm and dragging him out of Starscream’s lab.

“Come back here right this instant!” Starscream shouted after them.

“Go order the coneheads around, I’ve had it with you!” Thundercracker shouted back, sure to be loud enough for the base to hear. Skywarp shrugged, and fell into step behind Thundercracker.

“Uh, where are we going?” Skywarp asked.

“Somewhere else,” was all Thundercracker said in reply.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S I promise the Wheeljack stuff'll be resolved soon, haha.


	7. Inamorata, Inamorato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prowl hides under his desk, Sideswipe gives in, Jazz opens up to a new possibility, and Wheeljack knows fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy!!! I wanted to have a reasonably sized chunk for you, so here it is! Thanks for bearing with me!

“Hey, Prowl?” Sideswipe tapped on the door to Prowl’s habsuite softly. He’d brushed it off in the medbay, but he was starting to feel very guilty for upsetting the second in command – though he wasn’t sure why, as he wasn’t really sure how it was his fault.

“What,” came a terse reply.

“Can I come in and talk to you for a sec? I promise not to bug you,” Sideswipe said quietly. There was a pause, and the door clicked open. Prowl stood back slightly to let Sideswipe step in, and then the door shut behind him. Sideswipe glanced around – Prowl’s quarters were bigger than Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s, but not by very much. He had his own washrack, in the back, but other than that, the place was pretty much barren. There was one crystal growth that Sideswipe recognized had been given to him by Ratchet last Christmas and a small collection of hard drives that Sideswipe imagined contained novels or case reports or maybe old photos. There was an empty desk and a spartan berth and not much else.

“What is it,” Prowl’s scowl had returned in full force. Sideswipe snapped back to attention, rubbing his helm sheepishly.

“I just, uh, wanted to say I’m sorry, for all the – stuff lately. I know I’m a pain. I didn’t realize how much it was upsetting you,” Sideswipe said. Prowl stared up at him for a moment, then slowly deflated, putting a hand over half his faceplate and exventing slowly.

“It’s not your fault. I’m not mad at you,” he sighed.

“I mean – yeah, I get it’s not just me, but I coulda made things easier on you.”

“I appreciate the apology, Sideswipe, really, I do,” Prowl held his hands up as if in surrender. “I just have a bit of a processor ache right now.”

“Yeah, cool, cool,” Sideswipe shuffled his feet and glanced around, then sheepishly ducked his head again. “I did – wanna know how you – guessed the Skywarp thing,” he said.

“I – don’t know. It’s – sometimes I have...information collected that I don’t...look at,” Prowl held his hands out and sighed, searching for an easy explanation that Sideswipe would understand. “Like a puzzle. I have lots of puzzle pieces and I put them together and try to make a picture that makes sense. Sometimes I have pieces I don’t use, or...are invisible,” Prowl continued.

“Invisible.” Sideswipe said. Prowl sighed.

“Like – dirt. I picked them up on accident and didn’t notice, and they stuck.”

“Oh, oh, okay,” Sideswipe nodded.

“So when you knocked me out, while I was – unconscious, my processor just kind of...picked through all the puzzle pieces I had, including the ones I didn’t know I had, and used them to make pictures. When I woke up I guess I blurted them out.”

“That’s amazing, though!” Sideswipe said, holding his hands up. “I didn’t know you could do that! You – I remembered what you said, and it was true – Skywarp was like, super bummed out, so I tried being nice to him, and it worked – he didn’t kill either of us even though he easily could have,” Sideswipe explained. “You saved me and Sunstreaker’s lives! I mean, not that you don’t do that all the time – I just – you know, it’s amazing!” Sideswipe put his hands on Prowl’s shoulders and looked down at him. “You’re amazing,” he reiterated.

Prowl stared up at him, looking bewildered and a little bashful. Sideswipe stared down at him and was suddenly struck with a terrible impulse. He waffled for a second on whether to act on it. He thought briefly about Skywarp and his struggle, and then about Sunstreaker and Ratchet, mulling it over in his mind. Then he looked back down at the baffled Prowl, and internally shrugged to himself, and gave in. He leaned forward quickly and planted a kiss straight on Prowl’s lips.

Prowl’s doorwings shot up immediately, his hands polarized to the walls, and he stood there for all of five seconds in utter shock before his cooling systems kicked on in preparation for combat and Sideswipe felt hard metal meet his faceplate as Prowl slapped him, hard.

“Ow,” Sideswipe said.

“Out now,” Prowl said.

“Okay, sorry, thank you very much,” Sideswipe said sheepishly, turning towards the door, which opened.

“Goodbye,” Prowl said.

“Get some rest,” Sideswipe said cheerily as the door nearly cut his nose off as it shot shut.

 

Jazz slid into Prowl’s office on the tips of his toes – less because he wanted to sneak up on Prowl, and more because he didn’t want to upset the tactician if he still had a headache. Prowl’s doorwings were as sensitive as any aurals that Jazz knew of.

“Prrrrowler?” Jazz asked gently. Prowl, who was sitting at his desk with his back turned to the door, slowly turned around.

“Jazz,” he said without making optic contact.

“You wanna talk about yesterday?” Jazz precariously lowered himself into the chair across from Prowl.

“No, not really,” Prowl replied, bracing himself on his knees.

“Oh,” Jazz said.

“But we are going to talk about it anyways,” Prowl explained.

“I figured,” Jazz said.

“But I want to talk about something else first,” Prowl continued. Jazz leaned forward.

“Yeah?”

“Sideswipe kissed me,” Prowl said.

Jazz nodded thoughtfully for a moment, then slowed down as he processed what had been said. He searched Prowl’s expression – the tactician was staring at the floor, looking embarrassed and a little confused.

“Do you wanna – pursue – a disciplinary action?” Jazz asked.

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Prowl replied. Jazz nodded and leaned back.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked. What little composure Prowl had dissolved, and he put his head in his hands.

“Jazz,” he said, exasperated.

“Do you wanna kiss Sideswipe?” Jazz asked.

“Don’t tease me,” Prowl whined.

“I’m not teasin’. Okay, a little – but honestly? Prowl, I know it ain’t for anybody, but getting yourself a beau might help some of your stress issues,” Jazz teased.

“A beau?”

“You know – some arm candy,” Jazz joked.

“You know I don’t follow human vernacular as well as you,” Prowl complained.

“You know – a boytoy, a sweetheart. Inamorata, inamorato. A darling.”

“Jazz,” Prowl levelled a glare at him across the desk.

“A boyfriend, Prowl,” Jazz finished. Prowl’s faceplate went pink. “They say an overload’s good for a headache,” Jazz smirked, and Prowl’s faceplate went white and his doorwings shot up.

“That would be inappropriate,” Prowl snapped. Jazz felt the humour drain out of him – Prowl didn’t look embarrassed, he looked angry.

“Woah, okay – sorry, Prowl,” Jazz said. “I’m teasing – but I’m also serious. Having a relationship might help even things out for you,” Jazz said. “It’s certainly improved Sunstreaker and Ratchet’s respective stress, you said that when we reviewed it.”

“You remember why we were reviewing it?” Prowl replied sternly.

“For – oh. For conflict of rank. Of course. You outrank pretty much everyone on the ark, you’d be running into power balance and consent issues all over the place,” Jazz sighed, leaning back in his chair. Prowl seemed to have calmed slightly and nodded.

“It would be inappropriate, yes.” Prowl replied more smoothly.

“Could we – figure out an arbitration system?” Jazz asked.

“I don’t want to have a relationship with Sideswipe,” Prowl put his face in his hands.

“Doesn’t have to be Sideswipe,” Jazz replied, holding his hands out in appeasement.

“So what, I should just draw a name from a hat and command them to date me for morale,” Prowl rolled his optics.

“Hey hey hey – that’s not what I’m sayin’ and you know it. Don’t be snide,” Jazz said. “Let’s start simple: do you like the idea of having an SO or not.”

“I don’t know, Jazz! I – figured after the war, maybe? I haven’t thought about anything like that in – in – eons!” Prowl snapped, exasperated.

“And then Sideswipe kissed you, and suddenly you’re thinking about it,” Jazz said.

“I wish I wasn’t,” Prowl sighed, leaning on the desk.

“So you’re not into Sideswipe, but you do like the idea, huh?” Jazz asked.

“It’s not feasible, Jazz,” Prowl replied.

“Prowl – we barely run like an army anymore. Nobody’s gonna try and cite you for dating except yourself,” Jazz said.

“It’s not just that,” Prowl grumbled.

“Then what?”

“I – who would want to – date me, anyways?” Prowl mumbled. Jazz sat for a minute, stunned.

“Aw, Prowl – you know that’s not true,” Jazz said. “You said it yourself – Sideswipe kissed you, unprovoked.”

“Sideswipe has the impulse control of a petrorabbit. He probably did it just to knock me off balance.”

“I can’t deny the first thing, but I seriously doubt Sideswipe did it to mess with you. He feels terrible about knocking you out. I know, because he hasn’t done any mischief since. Not just ‘cos I’ve been keeping him busy, either. He kissed you ‘cos he was attracted to you,” Jazz said. “And you know that, too. You’re just making excuses.”

“Jazz, it isn’t that simple,” Prowl replied.

“I know. If there’s no one that catches your eye, we should probably think about counselling,” Jazz said.

“We don’t have a qualified counsellor,” Prowl sighed.

“Smokescreen’s done some of the eval but he’s out of the question on account of being your relative,” Jazz crossed his arms. “Ratchet’s not an expert, but he’s got the certification and he does some of it anyways.”

“Ratchet’s workload is massive. I don’t want to elbow out one of his other patients.”

“You’d take priority.”

“That’s the problem.”

“Fine, fine. Optimus is good for a pep talk,” Jazz offered.

“Optimus doesn’t know what a psychiatrist _is_.”

“He’s fatherly, maybe you need a little fathering,” Jazz chuckled.

“I asked you not to tease me. I’m already distressed.”

“Sorry, sorry. Alright. Who else we got. Hoist’s got a very basic credential and good temperament,” Jazz offered.

“I don’t want to talk to Hoist,” Prowl whined.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Prowl.”

“It’s my mental health, I get to decide,” Prowl grumbled, sinking back into his chair and sulking.

“I can’t decide if I like sulky Prowl or not,” Jazz sighed. “You’re cute, but you’re also impossible.” Prowl sank deeper into the chair, faceplate turning pink. “Really? I said you’re cute, and you’re blushing?”

“Don’t tease me,” Prowl said from somewhere deep in his chair, half under his desk.

“Prowl,” Jazz said, leaning over the desk so he could try to make eye contact. “Do you have a crush on _me_?”

“Don’t put me in this position, Jazz,” Prowl covered his face and began to recede into the dark hole under his desk. “I’m very weak. I’m going to pass out.”

“Prowl, Prowler,” Jazz said, tip-toeing around the desk to squat beside Prowl, who had somehow escaped the chair and was curled up on the floor under his desk. “Prowl, buddy, my friend, my pal,” Jazz took him by the shoulders and turned him over. Prowl kept his hands over his face. “I think you’re cute,” Jazz murmured to him. “I like you a lot.”

“Don’t do this to me now,” Prowl was practically in tears.

“Hey, Prowl, hey,” Jazz rubbed his back gently. “Let’s go on a date.”

“Don’t pity me,” Prowl mumbled through his hands. “I’ve gone on pity dates and they’re horrible.”

“Aw, Prowl, I didn’t know that,” Jazz stroked Prowl’s arm gently. “But I promise it’s not a pity date. I really do like you a lot. You’re one of my best friends. And you and I don’t have rank conflict, so it works out.”

“We don’t like any of the same things,” Prowl mumbled.

“I like that you like the things you like, and I know you like that I like the things I like. That’s good enough to start,” Jazz replied. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s go get you sorted out. We’ll fuel up, and we’ll go for a drive. Clear your head. And we’ll talk about it, yeah?”

“Okay,” Prowl said.

“You wanna keep hiding under your desk for a bit?”

“Yes please,” Prowl said.

“Okay. You just lemme know when you’re good,” Jazz said, patting Prowl on the back.

 

Wheeljack was sipping his energon and tapping a stylus on the table while he poured over a blueprint when he suddenly became aware of a looming golden presence before him. It was sort of like a sun, if a sun only cast reflected light and could loom. He looked up as Sunstreaker slotted into the booth beside him, trapping him. Sunstreaker gently rested his elbows on the table, tenting his fingers, and staring dead ahead, pointedly not looking at Wheeljack, who was suddenly very aware that he was a good deal smaller than the deadly golden lambo.

“Wheeljack.” Sunstreaker said, still not looking at him.

“S-sunstreaker,” Wheeljack stammered in reply.

“Are you upset about Ratchet and I.” Sunstreaker asked in a way that didn’t really sound like asking.

“I – uh – I...uh,” Wheeljack looked around the rec room in a panic. No one else was there. How had that happened? He could have sworn he’d seen Hound and Inferno just seconds ago.

“I don’t understand why you would be,” Sunstreaker continued without looking at him, “unless you were in love with Ratchet.”

“W-what,” Wheeljack blurted, faceplate heating up.

“I don’t really get how people usually do this. It’s my understanding that a lot of mechs feel you can only be in love with one person at a time. Humans are like that, too. It’s weird. I don’t get it.” Sunstreaker continued, contemplating the empty seat across from him with a thoughtful severity that Wheeljack hadn’t realized Sunstreaker was capable of. “I don’t care if you’re in love with Ratchet. I think, in fact, that everybody should be in love with Ratchet,” he continued.

“W...what?” Wheeljack stammered, utterly lost.

“He’s perfect,” Sunstreaker explained simply. “But what does bother me, Wheeljack,” Sunstreaker continued, “is that whatever unresolved feelings you have are hurting Ratchet. That’s unacceptable.”

“O-oh,” Wheeljack said, shifting uncomfortably. Sunstreaker continued not to look at him, which was somehow both a relief and much worse than if the golden lambo had been boring holes directly into his helm.

“So what are you upset about.” Sunstreaker said flatly, like he didn’t really care to hear the answer.

“I – I just – Ratchet and I have been partners for a long time. As scientists and medics and friends – he’s my closest friend, and I just – I didn’t know about all of this,” Wheeljack generally gestured to all of Sunstreaker, “until it was...under way. I feel like – I dunno, maybe I love Ratchet more than he loves me, and that kind of – sucks,” Wheeljack mumbled to a finish, fiddling.

Sunstreaker was quiet for an insufferably long moment. Wheeljack began to worry he was planning the most expedient way to kill him when the bigger mech finally spoke.

“I’m going to try something,” Sunstreaker said slowly, “which is to empathize with you. I am offering you this courtesy purely because Ratchet would want me to. It may not go well.”

“Okay,” Wheeljack said, already feeling defeated.

“All that dumb slag you said is a lot of holding people up to your imaginary standard, then assuming their worst intentions when they don’t meet it, instead of giving _your best friend_ the benefit of the doubt. That’s self-defeating. And cruel to Ratchet,” Sunstreaker explained. “Yeah, people can disappoint you,” Sunstreaker paused, thinking of phrasing. “But – before the facts are in – you get to decide how to feel about it. You can get mad and obsess about the worst possibility or you can just,” Sunstreaker gestured palms up to the air in front of him, “you know. Fucking. Trust your fucking friends a little.”

“So you’re saying – this is my fault ‘cos I chose to assume the worst,” Wheeljack said.

“It’s not a fucking blame game, Wheeljack. I’m sorry on Ratchet’s behalf you got your feelings hurt. But yeah, maybe you gotta interrogate that a little before you make up your mind about how everybody else feels.”

“What should I do, then? I already – kinda made an aft of myself to Ratchet,” Wheeljack mumbled.

“Apologize, tell him you’re an idiot, and then explain your stupid feelings,” Sunstreaker shrugged. “Otherwise, I don’t fucking know or care so long as you don’t hurt Ratchet.”

“Are you like – okay, so – are you and Ratchet in a like...open relationship?” Wheeljack tried to articulate.

“I dunno. I don’t feel like I have or want a Ratchet monopoly, if that’s what you mean,” Sunstreaker said. “You talk to him about it and you two decide what you wanna do. I only care in the context of what makes Ratchet happy and what makes me uncomfortable.”

“So...we’ll talk about it,” Wheeljack restated.

“Yeah, it’s almost like that’s what people in relationships do, huh? Instead of moping around for fucking weeks like a kicked turbopuppy?”

“I’m sorry,” Wheeljack mumbled again.

“You should be. You’re a fucking adult, act like it,” Sunstreaker finished, sliding out of the booth. It was like air suddenly rushed back into the room as he departed, and Wheeljack inadvertently gasped.

 

 


	8. I Wanna Know What Fun Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sideswipe doesn't know animals, Wheeljack is a big nerd, and Skywarp tries to figure out what he's in to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes Ya'll I been real busy!! I'm writin' three comics right now and it's a little TOO MUCH. Still, here's an update!! I'll try to be quick about the next one, but no guarantees...I'm very sorry TT_TT

“It’s a dog.”

“It’s not a dog.”

“It’s a – it’s, a...cat,”

“It’s not a cat.”

“Well it has four legs, and those are the only two earth animals I know with four legs,” Sideswipe shrugged.

“It’s a _horse_ ,” Spike put his hands on his hips.

“Cats don’t get that _big_ , Sideswipe,” Hound pointed out.

“Untrue! You’ve seen those big cats! The stripey ones!”

“Those are tigers.”

“Are they not cats?!”

“Well – technically – but look at this! It’s – not a cat!” Spike gestured to the horse.

“Why do you have a horse here, exactly?” Hound asked. He and Sideswipe were on guard duty outside the Ark when Spike had suddenly turned up leading a large palamino, looking somewhat worse for wear.

“It escaped from a farm nearby. The guy said there’s a big hole in his fence, and a few of his animals escaped.”

“A hole?” Hound asked.

“Yeah – somebody wrecked a huge section of fence.”

“Who would do that? Could it have happened on accident?”

“Well, the fence wasn’t cut, but _somebody_ did it. Do any of you guys know if – Optimus or someone with a trailer could help me return this horse?”

“Does anybody other than Optimus even have a big enough trailer for a horse?” Sideswipe asked.

“I dunno. I’d be happy to walk it back with you if you want,” Hound offered.

“Hey, don’t ditch me on guard duty! I wanna go!”

“Well – we can’t _both_ go, nobody’d be on watch!”

“Well let’s – here, I’ll ask Jazz about the schedule and see if one of us can go or they can get replacements for us or something,” Sideswipe said. “One second.”

Sideswipe stood for a second, and somehow manage to maintain a neutral expression even as his faceplate heated up to beet red.

“He says Prowl and I can go,” Sideswipe said to Hound.

“Aw. Okay,” Hound sighed. “Wait, Prowl _and_ you? Why’s it a two man job? We still need someone for watch,”

“He says he’ll get someone out here in a little bit and that Prowl needs time away from his desk.”

“So why do you have to go?”

“Cos I wanna go!” Sideswipe snapped.

“Pff. Okay,” Hound shrugged.

 

Wheeljack was dead to everything except his current project when Ratchet sat down at his workbench next to him. Unwilling to disturb the inventor in case something exploded, Ratchet instead calmly rested his head on his hands, content to watch Wheeljack work.

Wheeljack’s work was erratic. He started and left pieces half-finished to work on other aspects, picking away at a dozen processes at once until slowly something coherent seemed to emerge. He never lost a beat, though – even though his tact changed constantly, he always seemed to know exactly what was going on. Most of the time.

“You missed a screw, here,” Ratchet tapped a finger gently on the offending piece. Wheeljack jumped, fins flashing red and throwing his hands up and away from the table out of habit.

“Oh! Ratchet! How – long have you been there?” Wheeljack asked, sucking in a deep vent and placing a hand over his spark. He picked up the screw.

“Not so long,” Ratchet replied as Wheeljack inserted the missing screw.

“You need something?”

“You and I have to talk, I think,” Ratchet replied.

“O-oh,” Wheeljack said. He put his tools down on the bench and scooted away so he could turn and get a better look at Ratchet. “Y-yeah, I guess we do,” he said.

“Do you want me to start?”

“No, I wanna go first,” Wheeljack said. “I was being selfish and insensitive. You don’t owe me explanations for stuff, and I shouldn’t’ve assumed it meant you didn’t like me or something. I’m sorry I put you on the spot and made things weird.” 

“In your defense, you and I have acted like a, what would the humans call it. An old married couple? For a long time, without ever really talking about what our relationship actually was. So there were communication issues from both of us, and I’m sorry about that, too,” Ratchet smiled, putting a hand on Wheeljack’s shoulder.

“So what _does_ this all mean for us? Sunstreaker, uh, doesn’t seem to care so long as you’re happy,” Wheeljack commented. 

“I don’t really think things between you and me have to change too much, do they? I just – might spend some more of my off time with Sunstreaker,” Ratchet replied. “The way I love him and the way I love you are – pretty different. I don’t feel them competing, do you?”

“No,” Wheeljack admitted. “Other than for your time, which you don’t have much of,” Wheeljack huffed.

“Oh, come now, you know I always have time for you. Besides, it’s been fun to mix it up a little. We’ve all fallen into such habits since we got to this planet,” Ratchet patted Wheeljack on the back. “Maybe you should try hanging around with some different ‘bots too, eh?”

“I’m not really into interfacing, you know that,” Wheeljack replied.

“I know. I just meant for fun. You’ve got a fast altmode, maybe you could do some racing with Sideswipe or Bluestreak and Smokescreen or something, or some nature walks with Hound and Beachcomber,” Ratchet offered.

“Yeah, maybe,” Wheeljack sighed. “Yeah. That could be fun. I should learn more about the indigenous life on this planet, maybe it’ll help me come up with some more designs for things...” 

“That’s the spirit,” Ratchet smiled. He leaned over and put an arm around Wheeljack’s shoulders. “We good?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Ratchet. I love you a lot is all.” 

“I love you too, dummy.”

 

Skywarp stood in a dusty human barn with his hands on his hips as Thundercracker carefully lifted a section of concrete and slid it to the side, revealing the blue and purple glow of condensed energon.

“Woah, TC! Where did you get all of this?”

“Eh, you know. Little raids here and there while I’m on solo-patrol. Just a cube now and then. It’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone about it,” Thundercracker snapped, pulling a cube out for Skywarp.

“Nah, I won’t!” Skywarp said, taking the cube and sipping it as Thundercracker covered the rest back up. “This is so close to Autobot territory, too. Nobody’d ever look here. Smart, TC.”

“Wish you hadn’t busted up the fence, though. Now the humans’ll be poking around. They don’t use this building as far as I can tell.”

“Sorry, I didn’t see it!”

“It’s fine. Just watch your step next time.”

They stood for a minute sipping their respective energon cubes, listening to the sounds of weird tiny earth creatures rubbing their legs together. Skywarp finished his cube first and cleared his intake.

“Soooo.”

“What.”

“Starscream is, uh, gonna be real mad at us,” Skywarp commented.

“I don’t give a frag how Starscream feels,” Thundercracker replied, sitting on a stack of fuzzy yellow organic blocks.

“Well, he was right about me being dumb.”

“He was _not_ ,” Thundercracker snapped, pointing a finger at Skywarp. Skywarp threw his hands in the air.

“Then how come not _one_ Decepticon on this whole friggin’ planet will agree to go on a date with me?!”

“Because none of them are good enough for you!” Thundercracker boomed. Skywarp blinked, then blinked again.

“Wait, what?”

“I – okay. I maybe – told all of them if they hurt your feelings I would – you know, recycle them.”

“You – sabotaged me?” 

“Sabotaged is a strong word, Skywarp.”

“So I’m _not_ dumb?” 

“You’re not dumb. _I’m_ dumb.” Thundercracker sighed. “I shouldn’t have tried to control your – private...life. But Skywarp, listen to me,” Thundercracker said, getting to his feet and putting his hands on Skywarp’s shoulders, “every single Decepticon on this planet is either crazy, dumb, or a complete and utter jerk. You don’t wanna date any of ‘em.” 

Skywarp stared at his brother for a moment, trying to be angry, but ultimately sighed.

“You’re riiiight, I don’t like any of ‘em anyways,” Skywarp sighed. “’Cept maybe Astrotrain, but I got the feeling he wasn’t interested.”

“Maybe in a thousand years or something, I dunno,” Thundercracker shrugged. “Either way. You deserve someone better than all these slags.”

“This is both the nicest and worst thing you’ve ever done to me,” Skywarp grumbled, flopping down on the yellow-organic-squares. “What am I supposed to do! Date an autobot?!”

“Ugh. They’d send you crystals and write you sappy poetry,” Thundercracker groaned.

“Too cute. Sickening,” Skywarp stuck his tongue out, dragging his hands down his face. “Which Autobot would you date?”

“What?”

“You owe me, tell me this dark secret. If you had to, which Autobot would you frag.”

“Primus,” Thundercracker put a hand over his eyes, flopping down beside his brother. “Uhhh. What are even some of their names. I dunno. None of the aerialbots. Or Powerglide. And definitely not Skyfire, that’d be too weird.”

“Uhhh, Cosmos?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Is that all the fliers? I think that’s all the fliers. You’re on grounders only now, unless I forgot one.”

“Not the twins. Hate ‘em.”

“They’re hot though,” Skywarp commented.

“Eugh,” Thundercracker moaned.

“S’true. Nice lines. Cute bumper.”

“Stop tormenting me.”

“Definitely not Optimus, right? Too weird.”

“Way too weird. Uhh. Who’s good. I dunno. This is hard, Skywarp.”

“Play with meeeee,” Skywarp rolled over, kicking his legs in the air.

“Prowl’d be fun to play chess with, but I can’t imagine fragging him. Not Jazz. Too slippery. Maybe, uhhh. Hmm.” Thundercracker tapped a finger on his helm. “Euugh. I dunno. The ambulance.”

“You just said that ‘cos you saw him kissin’ Sunstreaker,” Skywarp grumbled.

“Yeah, but he’s closer to my age and we both...do tinkering junk.”

“Why not Wheeljack then?”

“Boom,”

“Fair point. WAIT! Omega Supreme. He can fly.” 

“Oh my god, are you kidding? How would I even – how do you interface with Omega Supreme?!”

“You gotta use your imagination, TC.”

“He’d literally crush me to death.”

“Hot,”

“You’re horrible.”

“Who else, who else. Blaster? He’s got…those knees,”

“You like Blaster’s knees?”

“He’s got pretty alright knees,” Skywarp shrugged.

“So of all the Autobots, the one you’d date is Blaster.”

“Noooo. I think maybe Sideswipe,” Skywarp replied. Thundercracker frowned.

“He’s put you to the ground dozens of times, and you wanna mack on ‘im?”

“I mean, when a car can pull you outta the air, you gotta admit that’s kind of a, I dunno, a thing,” Skywarp shrugged, covering his mouth and turning away from Thundercracker. Thundercracker pinched his brother’s wing, making him shout.

“You’re blushing,” Thundercracker said with deep concern and suspicion.

“I’m just sayin’, TC! If I _absolutely_ had to date an Autobot I _guess_ Sideswipe wouldn’t be so bad,” Skywarp replied.

“No wonder you put up with Starscream, you’re a masochist,” Thundercracker grumbled.

“A masowhat.”

“Somebody who likes pain,” Thundercracker explained.

“Oh. I dunno, maybe.”

“I don’t wanna know what you’re into, Skywarp.”

“I don’t know what I’m into!! I just wanna _do_ stuff, TC!! It’s not fair,” Skywarp whined, flopping about in the flaky organic material. “I wanna have a life.”

“Well, we can live here in this...animal...storage facility. We can become animal...tenders.”

“Horrible.”

“What do _you_ wanna do?”

“Something fun! I don’t know. Maybe doodlin’. I like to draw,” Skywarp said.

“Are you any good?”

“How do you not know?!”

“You never show me your stuff, and I don’t go through your things.”

“You _don’t_?? Someone does!! I always thought it was you!!” Skywarp gasped. “You think it’s an Autobot spy or something?? Jazz goes through my sketches??”

“It’s probably just Starscream trying to interpret your drawings to determine if you’re going to betray him or something,” Thundercracker sighed. “He goes through my things too.”

“What a creep! Why’s he do that?”

“Why’d you think it was me?”

“I dunno, I didn’t figure Starscream cared enough to do it.”

“You should show me your stuff,” Thundercracker said.

“It’s all back on base, though,” Skywarp sighed.

“You can teleport, dummy.”

“Oh, yeah!! I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t dawdle.”

“I won’t!” Skywarp snapped his fingers, and disappeared with a satisfying VOP. Thundercracker sighed.


End file.
